


The Wedding Charm

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's in love with his straight boss, he hasn't dated in years, and he's become a consummate grooms-man and wedding-photographer. That all changes when he meets Aidan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU in which Aidan is a writer, Dean's a photographer, and it's basically a romantic comedy.

“Dean, there’s another one.”

Dean looks up from the negatives he’s just put together to the crisp white envelope in Jared’s hand. With a heavy sigh, he takes it and opens the invitation – grateful to find that beyond the invitation to the happiest day of his friend’s life, it’s a job, too. That much is a relief (because the money never really hurts).

By Wednesday, Dean’s not only agreed to be a groomsman, but he’s agreed to do the photography for the event. He’s well-aware that his friends know the way to his heart and saying ‘but you’re the very best photographer I know’ charms him and then locks him into the commitment. For Adam, though, he’d do anything – especially considering he’s technically a groomsman twice over, having introduced Adam to Graham. 

“One day, you’re going to have to stop being a wedding photographer,” Jared says over lunch. They’ve worked together for nearly a decade and form an impeccable team. Jared does public adverts and Dean makes sure everything looks perfect. 

Oh, and he’s also head over heels in love with him. That’s something Jared doesn’t know and something Dean’s not keen on telling him.

Dean flashes his most charming and winning smile. “As long as I’m needed, I refuse to stop.” Besides that, it gave him the chance to trot out his best tux and tie and get all cleaned up. Sure, he’d only ever pulled once or twice at one of those things, but the romantic at heart kept insisting that one day he’d find the right way to tell Jared that _this_ was what he wanted.

Of course, it was slightly difficult to say that when Jared was dating the nicest, kindest, and most giving woman that Dean had ever met.

Sometimes Dean hates the fact that nice people like Jared get wonderful people to fall in love with them.

“Do you need time off to cover the event?” Jared asks, poking his head in from the door to give Dean a quick look, like he’s appraising how much time he’s planning to give Dean anyway, because he’s _nice_ and perfect like that. Dean spends most of his spare time bemoaning his horrible luck with men to his friends, but this is starting to get ridiculous.

Dean shakes his head. “No, it’s a weekend. I’ll be back without a trace of scandal or fun on me.”

“Don’t stay too straight and narrow,” Jared advises. “You could use a little fun. Hey, you think you can handle closing up shop today? Fern wants to head out for a lunch and I feel ready to oblige. This place is driving me insane.”

Dean nods wordlessly, hating the sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of another happy picnic happening without him there. If there were gold medals for unrequited love, Dean would have a whole array of them by now. He can’t stop, either. He wishes he could find someone better or more attractive, but they’re either taken or they’re straight – and in Lee’s case, they’re both.

It leaves him with no choice but to complain about it to his friends on a weekly basis.

“He gave nearly a hundred thousand dollars to a children’s charity today,” Dean drunkenly slurs, resting his chin on Richard’s elbow – Richard, one of his ex’s, is the world’s most patient friend and Dean wishes that he hadn’t gone and married some stupidly gorgeous bloke from back home – John or Jonas or something ridiculous. “How the hell am I supposed to _not_ be desperately and madly in love with him?”

Richard rubs his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Because you’re a romantic and you’re madly in love with a good man.”

“You mean, I’m an idiot.”

“That could be interpreted that way, as well,” Richard says. “You should let me hook you up with someone I know. Not entirely a philanthropist, but he’s smart. He’s an actor.”

Dean makes a face.

“Don’t be so quick to judge,” Richard warns. “Besides, you’re not getting any younger and if you spend your whole life pining away for a taken man, you’re going to wake up one day very old and very alone and it will do you no favours to have spent so long yearning for someone whose heart was already taken.”

“When did you get so wise?” Dean wonders. 

“When I got married. Now, speaking of, what are you wearing to Adam and Graham’s event?”

Dean tells Richard that he’ll have to show up and find out, but Richard’s going to be there. They’re all going to be there. Adam’s one of the darlings of their group and Graham makes him so incandescently happy that it’d be a shame for them not to have their happily-ever-after. Dean’s there to chronicle the event in both speech and photo. In the same tux and tie as ever, he begins his checklist.

He gets about two checks in before he feels cool liquid sploshing all over his torso. Dean lets out a cry of shock, glancing down to see champagne covering him completely and when he looks up, a recalcitrant puppy of a man is gaping at him in horror.

“Shit.”

“It’s…” He swallows back the ‘fine’ because it’s not. He doesn’t have another shirt and he’s running on limited time to get the shirt off before it stains yellow. He foists his most expensive camera into the stranger’s hand and starts yanking off his tie in a hurry, tossing his jacket onto the nearest chair, and stripping out of the shirt efficiently and madly. 

The strange man looks at him like he’s gone insane, which…is not entirely out of the question.

“I feel like I should get some bills out,” the man says, his Irish accent coating the words in this luscious and teasing way that Dean doesn’t pay much attention to because his equipment is in a stranger’s hands, his shirt might be ruined, and the wedding is going to start soon and Dean’s supposed to be out there. “I’m so sorry. It’s my first event, suppose I got a bit nervous.”

“What are you…? Who are you?” Dean asks, gesturing for the man to come with him. “That camera cost two grand. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He leads them to the bathroom and begins to soak his shirt in the sink, glancing in the mirror at the unruly state of his hair – the humidity beginning to curl it. “What are you doing here? I’ve never met you before and I’ve met all of Adam and Graham’s friends.”

“I’m new. At least, to Graham’s circle,” he confesses. “Aidan Turner. I’m a writer, Graham convinced me to do a piece on their wedding. Normally, I do charity events and the like, but…you can’t really say no to Graham, can you?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head. “Much as I’ve tried, you really can’t.” He yanks the shirt out of the sink and stares at the see-through fabric with disappointment. “I’m fucked.”

“Here,” Aidan’s saying, resting the camera on a dry part of the counter and stripping off his ruffled shirt. “I know it’s not much, it’s all I could get on a moment’s notice, but we’re sort of the same build. It might be a little long,” he says apologetically and Dean’s stupidly pleased that didn’t devolve into a height joke.

Time’s running out and Dean’s running low on possibilities. He grabs the shirt and pulls it on frantically, grabbing his camera as he checks his watch. “You said you’re a mate of Graham’s, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I get your number from him?”

Aidan flushes pink, eyes widening.

“So I can return the shirt,” Dean hurries to add, aware that he’s not with Jared, but this feels strangely like he’s cheating on him and, fuck, but he needs his priorities resorted if he can’t even have a conversation with a nice bloke without thinking of his boss. “Shit, I’m supposed to be at the altar.”

Aidan reaches over and presses the camera into Dean’s hands. “I’ll see you at the reception after?”

“Maybe,” Dean says, not wanting to make any promises. 

He tries his best to haphazardly tuck in the extra fabric of the shirt and bolts for the church, making it to the front of the church just in time for Nesbitt to give him a once-over, his gaze stuck on the ruffles of his shirt – and the top two buttons being undone. Dean swallows and focuses on snapping pictures of the guests and the parties, grateful that he’s not going to be in the photos since he looks a mess.

“What happened to you?” Nesbitt asks. “Where’s your tie?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but he actually doesn’t know. At least, he doesn’t until he takes a shot of the crowd and checks it to see Aidan wearing Dean’s bowtie wrapped around his wrist like he’s a present waiting to be opened.

Flushed and bothered by someone who isn’t Jared for the first time in _years_ , Dean doesn’t know what to make of the situation.

He makes it through the ceremony mostly intact, checking the camera and grateful to find that he’s got hundreds of good shots to use. He grabs Graham and Adam for their portraits and starts putting away the equipment, wearily watching the way the two of them seem ready to jump on Dean’s current clothing status.

“What happened to you?” Adam asks, sounding thrilled. “Please tell me you let someone get one into you before the wedding?”

“Ding dong, the unrequited love is gone?” Graham suggests hopefully.

“Your new writer friend dropped champagne all over me,” Dean mutters, staring down at the ruffles with dismay. “I barely had time to get his shirt off his back before I had to get to the wedding.”

“Well?” Adam prompts.

“Well, what?”

“What did you think?”

“Of _what_?” Dean asks, placing caps on lenses and trying to find some sense in Adam’s words. “What…?” he sputters a laugh. “Aidan? No way,” he insists.

“Why not? True, you two aren’t exactly made for each other, what with his distaste for weddings and your inability to stop attending them because you secretly want to marry a wedding,” Graham notes. “He’s young, you’re young, you’re both attractive, and you so desperately need to fuck someone. We love you, Dean. We do. You can’t keep pining over Jared like your life depends on it. One day, he’s going to get married too.”

“And then I’ll be old and alone,” Dean sighs. “Richard gave me this very speech last night. I’m not fucking some friend of yours because of fear.”

“No, fuck him because he’s gorgeous,” Adam reasonably insists. 

“He hates weddings?” Dean murmurs, choosing to ignore Adam’s ‘advice’. “Why’s he covering yours, then?”

“It’s his job. And I asked nicely,” Graham says, beaming proudly at Adam. “We’re going to be front page of the lifestyle section. Besides, he’s a good kid who wants to be a proper writer and got stuck doing the obits and the write-ups of charity galas. And, again, it’s not like you’re going to be marrying him.” Graham digs out a piece of paper, scribbling a number. “Here. That’s his number. Ring him,” he commands. “And let him get his shirt off your back. Slowly. Preferably with mood lighting and some wine.”

Dean plucks the card out of Graham’s hand, but _only_ because the shirt was part of the rental and he doesn’t want to pay a fee on that. 

“I’m not shagging him.”

“Of course not,” Adam agrees, a wicked smile on his lips. “Making love.”

“I’m not going to gag, but only because you two are newlyweds and I refuse to ruin your night,” Dean says, snapping one last photo with his Polaroid – so he can add it to his wall of weddings – and pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. The rest of the night is fairly predictable apart from the fact that he keeps looking through the crowd to see if Aidan is still wearing the tie around his wrist.

It’s Jared who shows up, instead, and Dean’s entire world becomes focused on how perfect Jared looks and he’s giddy to see that Fern isn’t there with him. 

Dean licks his lips and grabs a drink for courage. “What are you doing here? I thought you were working!”

“And miss this?” Jared grins, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek and officially becoming Dean’s wank-material for the next week. “I thought I’d drop by and see how you’re wasting your ungodly wonderful levels of talent on weddings again,” he says, sliding his fingers over Dean’s wrist to pry the camera loose. “Look at these,” he praises. “Honestly, you’re ridiculous. You’re so talented.”

Dean swallows back the lump in his throat, wishing he could say something about how stupidly in love he is with Jared.

“There you are,” a voice interrupts Dean’s current fantasy – which involves waking up on the weekend and making omelettes – and Dean realizes that Aidan has picked the worst possible time to find Dean in the crowd.

Jared turns, a wildly amused look on his face. “I didn’t know I was interrupting.”

“You’re not, you’re…” Dean exhales and stares at Dean’s shirt on Aidan’s torso and the way it fits perfectly apart from how short it is. Every time he reaches up, a sliver of Aidan’s stomach shows and Dean spends a few seconds too many looking. It’s long enough that Jared seems to notice, which isn’t what tonight is supposed to be about.

Aidan brightens. “I’m Aidan Turner, Graham’s friend. You are?”

“Dean’s boss, and friend.”

_And love of my life, not that you know it,_ thinks Dean hopelessly.

He sighs and Aidan looks at him curiously. The small talk goes by and Jared excuses himself to head to the buffet, leaving Aidan at Dean’s side. “I thought I was bad about wearing my emotions on my sleeve.”

“What?” Dean asks, finally looking at Aidan. He reaches over and grasps for the bowtie around his wrist, sliding his thumb under the tie to loosen it. It’d come free, except that Aidan steps back and Dean winds up stumbling along with him. “Give me back my tie.”

“Can I have back my shirt?” Aidan asks with a wink. “Not that it doesn’t look amazing on you.”

Dean flushes, his cheeks going pink, and even though his fingertips are still flush against Aidan’s warm skin and the pulse is going to his head – or maybe that’s the champagne and the proximity to Jared that’s doing it. 

“So? Boss, huh?”

Dean tugs on the tie, which brings Aidan flush against Dean’s body and if he’s not wrapping an arm around Aidan’s waist, they’re going to end up on the floor. Dean looks up at the height difference between them, and stops thinking about Jared.

For the first time in years, Jared isn’t the first one who comes to his mind.

Dean ought to be relieved or worried or _something_ , but he’s not entirely sure what to make of the fact that his palm is flush on Aidan’s forearm and suddenly they’re dancing. They’re wearing each other’s clothes and now they’re dancing to a slow song. Dean’s fairly sure Adam’s bribed Aidan to do this because it doesn’t make any sense.

“You’re painfully obvious about how you’re crazy in love with him,” Aidan teases.

“It’s not like he’s noticed,” Dean scoffs.

“And it’s not like you noticed how much time you’re wasting.”

“I’m sorry, you did just meet me,” Dean retorts, yanking on the tie, which brings Aidan even closer. “I don’t think you have any right to lecture me about whom I’m in love with.”

“Oh, you’re _in love_ ,” Aidan drawls. “That makes all the difference.”

Dean glares at him crossly. He yanks the tie off and shoves it into his pocket, glaring at Aidan and storming away. If it weren’t Graham and Adam’s wedding night, he’d give them a piece of his mind for putting him in this awkward position. Dean’s pissed, beyond pissed, and he’s in such a rush to get away that he doesn’t even notice that he’s lost the Polaroid until two days later. He’s in the middle of tearing apart the office and cursing loudly when he hears the door open. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” a female voice comments.

Dean peers up to find Fern at the door. “Fern,” he says tightly. “Hi. Jared’s not here.”

“I know,” she says, her shoulders high and a grin on her lips. “It’s you I wanted to talk to, actually. I know that you’re Jared’s best friend and I know it might be weird, I know that you don’t have to say yes, but…”

She laughs and a frisson of dread sinks into Dean’s stomach.

“He proposed!” Fern says with giddy delight. “And I wanted to know if you’d stand at my side and…maybe be our photographer?” She keeps talking, but Dean tunes out, nodding and managing to agree to everything that Fern asks for. By the time she leaves, Dean’s signed his own death certificate.

He’s still sitting at his desk, stunned, when he remembers that the Polaroid of Graham and Adam are still missing – and that soon, there’s going to be one of Jared on his wall of weddings.

“I need a drink,” he mutters.

Even though he’s got hours on the clock left, Dean heads to the nearest bar and sends out a 911 text to every friend he knows. He always knew this day would probably come, but he’d tried to ignore reality for fantasy. Some part of him kept holding out hope for Jared to see how aligned they were and how good they could be together.

Now, Dean’s day-drinking to drive away the sick feeling in his stomach and he's not entirely sure it's doing any good.


	2. Chapter 2

“Graham said I might find you here.”

Dean looks up from his drink, glaring at Aidan. “I’m really not in the mood.”

“I came to return something of yours,” he says, handing Dean a folded shirt and a Polaroid of the most-recent happy couple sitting atop it. “Graham said you’d be here, that you wanted company.”

“Graham’s a dirty liar who should be having wild monkey sex with his new husband instead of meddling in my life,” Dean grumbles. He takes the shirt, anyway, even though he doesn’t know that he wants to be drinking with a near-stranger in the middle of the day. “Thanks,” he gets out, aware that he still needs manners even if he’s in the middle of the worst day of his life. “Suppose you ought to join me. I’ve already got a tab going, so…I’m paying.”

“I always wanted a sugar daddy,” Aidan replies, pleased. “So, where’s my shirt?”

Dean isn’t sure where he put the shirt, but he doesn’t give a shit right now. “Fuck your shirt. Drink tequila with me.”

“Charming,” Aidan murmurs, sounding delighted. “Will any of these be body shots?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, running his thumb over the Polaroid he thought he’d lost. “Look at them. They’re so happy. They found the person they’re meant to be with and they’re never going to be lonely ever again,” he says, taking back a first shot, then a second, then a third. “This’ll be the twentieth picture on my wedding wall.”

“Your what?” Aidan laughs.

“I have a wall of weddings,” Dean says, staring at the way Aidan licks his lips and ignores the idiotic voice in his brain that says he should do something about that mouth. “Do you want to see it?” he blurts out. 

“Your place?”

“No, it’s a portable wall,” Dean jokes wryly. “Yes, it’s at my place.”

“You’re inviting me to your place just after you found out your truest love is getting married.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asks, throwing down several bills on the bar. He rolls his eyes. “Graham,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Seriously, he needs to have more sex and stop interfering with my life, already.” He curls the shirt into his arm and stands, making a split-second decision that he’ll probably regret. “Fine, yes, come to my place, see the wall of weddings and laugh at me for being pathetic.”

He expects to be laughed at. What he doesn’t expect is for Aidan to reach over Dean’s shoulder for the last shot of tequila on the bar, brushing his lips over Dean’s neck as he eases back. “You know, you’re too good for this shit,” he says.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know Graham. And he knows you,” Aidan insists, tucking his hand into Dean’s back pocket and groping his arse. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve got something to drink at your place and you can give me a few quotes about Graham and Adam. You’re basically the person to go to. You’ve kind of got a reputation.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Aidan agrees sheepishly. “Apparently, people who become friends with you have a ninety-percent chance of finding the love of their life.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean laughs. 

“You’re friends with people, then they get married, and then you take gorgeous pictures of their wedding,” Aidan says, lingering behind Dean and resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder as he unlocks the front door to his apartment. “You’re practically a good luck romantic charm. Jared’s the next in line, right?”

“I don’t…that’s not…” Dean sputters, going through the list of his friends in his mind and realizing that Aidan’s not entirely wrong. “Holy shit,” he gets out, standing in the foyer as Aidan wanders freely into the apartment. “I’m a rabbit’s foot for lonely people!”

Aidan shrugs, poking his head out from the cupboards where he’s rummaging through Dean’s things. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to get married anytime soon. I’m waiting for the right person,” he says, letting out a cry of triumph as he lifts up a bottle of vodka. “Here we go, this’ll do the trick.”

He’s still rooting through Dean’s things while Dean’s epiphany takes root.

“He’s getting married,” Dean finally says, when Aidan presents him with vodka, neat, and toasts to the situation. “You know they dated for three years? I always held out this stupid hope that he’d see me. You know? He always gave me praise and admires my photos and…”

“And?”

“And he’s straight,” Dean says, laughing darkly. “God. Do you know how many years of my life I spent pining for him?”

“It’s always too many,” Aidan says, picking up the Polaroid and wandering over to the wall where wedding after wedding is displayed, Dean’s handwriting chronicling what year and which couple got married. Aidan trails his fingers over each photo, staring at the earlier ones with wonder. “You’ve been doing this for ages.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs fondly. “I took photos of my first wedding when I was seventeen. Old family friend, Tim,” he says, leaning back and remembering the whole night vividly. “I don’t know what it was about the whole thing, but I loved the idea of finding someone you could be yourself around and spend the rest of your lives together.”

“You thought that at seventeen?”

Dean laughs. “Okay, so the sex part was pretty important to me, too.”

He finishes the rest of his drink and wanders behind Aidan to look at the wall, taking a tack to the newest photograph and putting it in chronological order, right after Richard and Jonas, two away from Martin and Amanda. “Why keep the pictures?”

“To remind myself that one day, it’ll be me on the wall,” Dean says, aware that he’s standing in Aidan’s personal space and that the proximity is making him hyper-aware of how good Aidan smells and how Aidan seems to be drifting into Dean’s personal space. “And I’m talking about my dreams of the future with the anti-wedding man. I was told.”

Aidan shrugs. “I’m not saying I don’t want to get married, but my trail of pathetic ex’s leaves a lot to be desired,” he says, tapping his fingers over James’ photo with his wife. “If I could find someone who makes me as happy as these people look, as you look when you look at these…” He bites his lip and looks back at Dean, a sheepish smile on his lips. “Sorry, I’m being weird, right? I don’t know, you make me wish that I still had that kind of hope when it comes to finding the right one.”

Dean gestures to the photos with his glass. “I’m starting to think I’m destined to be alone unless I change. Richard was right.”

“Richard?” Aidan asks, tapping the photo. “This one? The happy one?”

“They’re all happy in those pictures.”

“And now?”

“They’re happy, now, too,” he admits. “They found the person that makes them happiest.” He sighs and slumps back against his couch, wishing that his bottle of vodka could somehow refill itself. “Fuck,” he swears. “Why are you letting me get maudlin?”

“Because it’s this or get you drunk and naked?”

Dean wonders if this is ever going to stop. “If we have sex, will that stop you from the constant flirting?” He’s starting to consider it. He could use the stress release, even though a part of him thinks that it’d be a shame to relegate Aidan to nothing more than a one-night stand. Beyond that thought, he’s too drunk to be making sane decisions and shakes his head. “No, no, I’m drunk, I can’t.”

“Your loss,” Aidan replies with a winning smile. “Is my shirt here?”

“Oi!” Dean shouts when Aidan traipses into his bedroom and starts rooting around his closet. “You seriously need to learn about personal boundaries!”

“What, am I going to find something embarrassing?” Aidan asks, already in Dean’s closet. “Here it is,” he says, but he’s still rooting around. “Wow, I bet this royal blue looks insanely good on you,” Aidan says, taking a shirt out of the closet. “You should wear this on your next date, it’d bring out your eyes. I bet you’d be gorgeous in it.” He presses the sweater up against Dean. “Seriously, you look hot.”

“I’m way too drunk to cope with you,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Jared’s engaged. I’m single, my best friend is engaged, and I’m the groomsman and the photographer. _Again_.”

Aidan collapses at Dean’s side. “You’re going to take amazing pictures, though.”

“What a consolation for me,” Dean mutters. 

Aidan leans over Dean’s body, grabs the remote, and finds some pathetic romantic comedy. They watch one, then another, and then a third. They polish off the bottle of vodka and Aidan falls asleep, drooling, with his head in Dean’s lap. It’s sort of sad, but it’s basically the best night Dean’s had in recent memory.

He really doesn’t want to know what that says about him.

Dean sees Aidan out the door in the morning, feeling like he’s swallowed a whole frog and then some. In what’s likely the best evidence that his friends are covert stalkers, he receives a text mere minutes after Aidan’s left. It’s from Lee, of all people, and gets right to the point of asking if Dean fucked him.

Dean speed-dials Lee and holds the phone arm’s length away. “What the fuck is wrong with the lot of you?” he shouts. “Go back to your gorgeous wife, would you! Anna would be mad if…” He hears her laughing distantly in the background. “Everyone needs to pay attention to their own life so you can stop invading mine!”

He hangs up and relishes the delight he takes in cutting off Lee’s recalcitrant apology.

The next text he receives makes his blood boil before he even looks at it, ready to go postal on his so-called ‘friends’, but he can’t account for the twist in his stomach when he realizes it’s actually from Aidan, asking if he’d like to take a trip over the weekend to some little-known chapel that was used for eloping in the middle ages. 

_apart from the sad bores who’ll read the article, you might get a kick out of it too, xo aidan_ , it reads.

And then, another text.

_wear the blue sweater. ;)_

Fuck, Dean’s not ready for another all-consuming hard-on for someone completely inappropriate. At least Aidan isn’t straight, but he doesn’t seem to want a relationship so much as he wants to get laid. He’s not even sure why he’s thinking of a relationship – apart from some stubborn need to prove he doesn’t have to be alone (and maybe that part of him that actually likes Aidan and his gorgeous smile and his brilliant laugh and the way he invades Dean’s life and doesn’t care about any of the messes he finds).

Dean texts back with a question as to where they’ll meet and then hides his phone under a pillow for the remainder of the day.

Despite the raging headache inhabiting his brain, he goes into the office with the intent of getting some promotional work done so Jared can send it out to the clients. Given that it’s a Tuesday and Jared’s just gotten engaged, he doesn’t think he’ll find any company at the office and is grateful to be proved right.

The only company arrives in the form of his nosy bastard friends who turn up in the middle of the afternoon en masse. Nesbitt, Lee, and Richard form a gorgeous trio and if it weren’t for the fact that Dean’s entirely too hung-over for this, he’d made a joke about a foursome. He sighs and stares at the group of them, a warning on his lips for them to stop before they start meddling.

“Which one of you did it?” he demands.

“Hello to you, too, princess,” Nesbitt says, kissing Dean’s cheek. “What is it I’m accused of doing?”

“Sending the leprechaun on me,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction. “I asked for help, not a one-nighter.”

Lee and Richard exchange interested looks and Dean rolls his eyes, not sure why he’s surprised they’re taking it like that.

“Not like that,” he snaps. “Nothing happened apart from me being maudlin and going through twice as much vodka as I wanted to.” And the part where he’s said yes to a date with the man isn’t going to come up because it’s not the beginning of a relationship so much as it’s a way to distract himself from the pain of losing his best friend to sheer happiness.

It always happens. They find someone and they get married and while they’re still Dean’s friends, they’ve got someone else for the most important things in their lives. Case in point, the three friends in front of him (all married, all happy, all wonderful) are only here now. Dean’s fast running out of single friends.

He thinks, briefly, about Aidan finding someone after becoming friends with him. He thinks of losing that invasive bastard and there’s a part of him that legitimately panics for a moment. Dean chalks it up to loneliness and tries to move on.

“Do you like him?” Lee asks. “I’m pretty sure that’s the important part.”

“Who?”

“Aidan,” Nesbitt prompts.

“He’s a nosy fucker who reminds me how pathetic my life is. Of course I don’t like him,” Dean lies and then remembers that while he’s returned Aidan’s shirt, the man still has Dean’s. “Is he going to be sticking around then?” he asks, dreading the answer he already knows, given the way Nesbitt clearly seems to enjoy talking about him.

“Call us nosy, too,” Richard finally admits.

“Why?” Dean demands suspiciously.

“Graham’s got it in his head that Aidan would be good for you,” Richard says. “And after meeting him, I tend to agree. You need someone in your life who isn’t a saint. You need someone who doesn’t give to charity and treat you like you’re a godsend. You need…you need something interesting, Dean. You need something that isn’t weddings.”

“He’s writing a piece about weddings, you didn’t exactly get me away from it.”

“Trust us,” Nesbitt insists. “Now, we heard that you’re going on a mini-break. We’re here to help you pack.”

“Oh, no you’re not,” Dean says, eyes widening in horror. “It’s one bag, my cameras, and that’s it. That’s all.” He doesn’t even bother to ask how they knew about the getaway, given that he’s come to the conclusion that his friends are all secretly in league with the devil or are stalking Dean through a variety of spies and cameras. He hasn’t exactly decided, yet, but he’s pretty sure it’s one or the other.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, their witchcraft extends to them having the power to convince him to leave the office in the middle of the day to root through his things. 

“Not…” Dean protests as a pair of skinny jeans get lobbed into his suitcase. “Would you be careful with some of my stuff?”

“This,” Lee comes out with an emerald green shirt. “Definitely this.”

Dean bites his lip and reaches for it, aware that he might be making a big mistake, but life’s about making mistakes – after all, if you can’t trust someone who’s been in love with his straight boss when it comes to mistakes, then you can’t trust anyone at all. “Not this one,” he says, hanging it back up. He ends up having a staring contest with the blue sweater and decides ‘fuck it’ and puts it in the suitcase, not sure what he’s just done, but aware it means _something_.

“So, where are the two of you staying?” Nesbitt asks, reclined on the bed and helping by offering sound advice – which mostly amounts to not doing anything. “One bed?” he drawls suggestively.

“I don’t know, I didn’t exactly ask details.”

Actually…

Dean makes a ‘move’ gesture to where Richard is sitting on his couch. Richard lifts his arse up enough for Dean to pry his phone from its hiding place behind the pillow. There’s an assortments of calls and texts from random people, but there’s also a string of texts from Aidan.

_pick you up at yours!_

_you okay with a b &b?_

_silence means yes. see you at 4 on fri_

Dean exhales and holds his phone tighter than before. He’s actually doing this. He’s actually going away with a near-complete stranger to see a medieval eloping site and staying at a B&B because…because he’s on the rebound? He’s not, really, he’s got something of a broken heart, but it’s been a long time coming.

“Is that him?” Lee asks, peeking over his shoulder. “He’s definitely attractive. And taller than you. I thought you liked them taller than you.”

“I do,” Dean mumbles, trying not to pay attention to them as he texts back a quick reply of confirmation, asking if Aidan wants him to bring anything.

_camera and your sexy arse will do_

“He definitely wants you.”

“Fuck him,” Nesbitt says.

“If any of you bothered to listen, you’d know I don’t want to get my end away,” Dean complains sharply, shoving his phone into his pocket. “The last three years of pining have been because I want that. I want to fall in love and find my forever and be the pathetic romantic you all know I am. Aidan might want that one day, but it’s not going to be with me.”

“Why not?” Richard asks calmly.

Trust Richard to be the one voice of sanity that throws him off guard. 

“What?” Dean manages, past his shock.

“Why not Aidan?”

“I don’t even know him,” Dean says. “And beyond that, his attitude towards life doesn’t exactly fall in line with mine.”

“Isn’t that better? Opposites attract,” Lee points out, handing Dean a packed bag. “See? We helped.”

“I’m not giving you a gold star,” Dean replies dryly. “Put it away and _don’t_ touch my cameras. I’m not even leaving for two days. Everything’s going to wrinkle.” He doesn’t even know why he cares beyond the fact that it’s distracting him from being too maudlin thinking about the suit he’s going to wear to Jared’s wedding and how the door is going to close so very soon.

He needs to move on. 

Dean sort of wishes he knew how to. “Come on,” Richard says. “Adam and Graham are getting back in tonight and have requested your presence at the bar. They swear they won’t bring any gorgeous Irishman.”

“Hey!”

“Besides James,” Richard corrects. “And Graham insists he’ll pay your tab for putting you through all the matchmaking.” 

It all sounds too good to be true, but Dean does want to see his friends and find out about their honeymoon, so he says yes and manages to tuck away a second night of hard drinking the likes of which he hasn’t done since he turned twenty-one. True to their promise, Aidan doesn’t turn up, and Dean falls back into comfortable habits. The only maudlin part of the evening happens when he’s buying drinks at the bar and it strikes him that he is the _last_ single person in their entire group.

He feels like he needs to start branching out again, if that’s the case.

Instead, he digs out his phone and texts Aidan.

_ever have one of those moments when you realize you blinked and your life passed you? I’m there_

Aidan replies ridiculously quick with a simple, _yeah. Want to talk about it?_

Dean’s fingers hover over the keys and after much debate, he finally sends off: _this weekend, maybe_. He exhales and tucks his phone away before one of his friends can notice how much time he’s spending talking to someone who isn’t even there – and by process of elimination, isn’t hard to figure out who it is. He buys a round of shots for everyone and focuses on the sheer joy of spending time with the people he loves.

When he wakes up the next morning with a hangover (again), Dean hates his life.

“Fuck,” he croaks out, trying to hide from the sun to no avail.

For the first time in three years – no longer tied down by needing to be at the office on the off-chance Jared smiles at him – he calls in sick. Dean spends the day eating cereal in yoga-pants and generally being sad and pathetic. He ignores the phone when it rings, too involved in the soap operas on the television to care about his own soap opera life.

The only call he makes is to tell Jared that he’ll be away all weekend, but doesn’t give a reason as to why. He tries not to feel guilty about it and then hates whatever conditioning has it so that he actually thinks that ought to be a thing. 

He owes Jared nothing. The man’s happy and in love and doesn’t even know about Dean’s pathetic love for him. There’s no reason for him to find out.

By the time Friday rolls around, Dean feels like a human being again. He’s sorted out his affairs at the office and has bags in hand, waiting for Aidan on the stoop of his flat. He’s actually eager to get away for a weekend, especially since it means getting to spend more time with Aidan. 

Aidan’s on time, which is a point in Dean’s book, and he’s brought snacks. “Your chariot,” Aidan says, gesturing to the passenger seat. “You all ready for a weekend tryst?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s starting to get used to Aidan’s lewd comments and is able to ignore them. He takes care to place his cameras in his lap carefully, but before he does, he snaps a few shots of Aidan, scrawling the date and ‘Aidan’ on it. He’s ready to tuck the photo away, but hesitates at the flush in Aidan’s cheeks, both in the picture and at his side.

“There’s something I want to ask, but it’s awkward.”

Aidan snorts. “Ten minutes in,” he says, tapping the clock. “Ten minutes and you’re already bursting out the awkward questions.”

“You’re clearly gorgeous. You’re funny, you’re talented, and you’re single.”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Aidan replies.

“Why?”

“Why am I gorgeous? Funny? And so on?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Hilarious, you idiot. Why are you still single?”

“I’ve never met anyone worth leaving the single life for,” Aidan says, looking Dean over with intense consideration. Dean stares forward, bowing his head down to stare at the photograph and the care he’s put into writing Aidan’s name. “Besides, I’m only twenty-nine. I’ve got ages to figure that out.”

“So, where is it you’re taking me?”

“Gretna Green,” Aidan says. “Can I ask the awkward question, now?”

Dean laughs warmly. “You’ve earned it.”

“You’re not from here. Neither is your boss, so what brings you this way? Not that I mind your gorgeous New Zealand accent in my ears,” Aidan says delightedly. “Did you follow Jared here? He clearly didn’t follow you.”

“And why not?” Dean retorts stubbornly.

“You’re the one clearly stupidly in love with him. You probably gave up something fulfilling to come here. Again, not that I mind.”

“Is there a reason you keep acting like I’m the best thing since sliced bread?”

“What? You’re hot,” Aidan says with a shrug. “And clever and talented. Besides, I’m honest, you’re hot, and you’re the only person I know who _actually_ wanted to come with me this weekend.” He shrugs again, reaching over to snatch the photo from Dean. “It means something to me, besides, you deserve whatever compliments I give. Get used to it.”

Dean gives a curious murmur. “That almost sounds like you’re intending to stake a place in my life.”

“And you haven’t answered the question. Who came first?”

As loathe as he is to admit it, he knows he can’t dodge the line of questioning forever. “Jared came, I followed. He’s the one with all the ideas, I’m just the photographer. I make things look pretty, but he’s got the substance. Two months after we made the trip, Fern followed. They really are good together. I never really stood a chance.”

With hindsight and crushing heartbreak, Dean’s finally begun to see the truth for what it is.

“I can’t believe I spent three years of my life pining over the impossible.”

“Look at it this way,” Aidan says. “Whoever you fall for next can’t possibly be as bad. You’ve hit the very bottom of the barrel, there’s only up from here.”

Dean laughs heartily at that, a physical ache present in his stomach. “You’ve seriously cursed me with that,” he accuses, leaning over to flick Aidan in the shoulder and biting his lip as he tries to suppress the stupid grin on his lips. “Seriously! What if I fall in love with a serial killer? What if it’s a clown? What if it’s a serial killing clown? There’s so much more down to go.”

“Aren’t you Mister Negative,” Aidan drawls. “You could find the person you’re meant to spend your life with. Who knows? Maybe someone’s going to be at Gretna Green waiting for their knight in shining armour to whisk him away,” he says, winking at Dean. “Or you’ve already met Mr. Right and you’ve never noticed him before because the miasma of unrequited love was blinding you.”

“Right, that would imply that of the group of people I call my friends, someone in there is marriage-worthy who isn’t already taken,” Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t forget there’s me now,” Aidan replies. His tone is just this side of serious and Dean isn’t sure if this is a continuation of his joking manner or if Dean is supposed to take him seriously. Either way, it’s enough to throw him off and he remains silent for the next few hours of the drive, music turned on to fill the air.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean’s the first one out of the car when they arrive, grabbing as many bags as he can and charging forward. He still has to wait for Aidan to get the room key and check them in, gesturing to the two double beds in the room. “Pick whichever you like, I’m not fussy,” he says, peeking into the bathroom and doing a cursory evaluation of the room with a boyish grin of exuberance on his lips.

“Ever been in a hotel before?” Dean asks mildly, bemused by how giddy he seems.

“Not many,” Aidan confesses, sitting on one of the beds with a slight bounce. “C’mon, put your stuff down and let’s go grab a drink. You can tell me more about moving halfway around the world to chase after a guy.”

Dean’s not looking forward to talking about that more, wondering how the hell he can get Aidan to _drop_ the topic already. He’s beginning to understand that the hopeful door he’s kept open for him and Jared has been slammed shut and locked, despite his wishes otherwise. It means that he needs to figure out what to do. 

It takes a few glasses of wine before he says this aloud. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, I came here for Jared. I like my job, sure, but it’s not like it’s my dream gig,” he says, staring at the legs on his glass of wine. “Now that he’s getting hitched, he and Fern might want to head back to Auckland.”

“Would you follow?” Aidan asks curiously.

“I don’t know. I’ve made a lot of friends here,” Dean admits with a fond smile. England’s been good to him in that respect and while he’s still got a lot of mates back home, it wouldn’t be the same. “I’m not too worried about finding other work, but it’d be a new chapter of my life.”

“I think you deserve one of those about now,” Aidan says, leaning back in his chair and precariously wobbling the legs of it as he raises a hand to order a few drinks from the bar. “Okay, lay it on me.”

“What?” Dean asks, laughing.

“You’re a wedding photographer, basically. You love being a groomsman, and you’re a desperate romantic,” Aidan accuses with aplomb. “I know you’ve thought about your own wedding. Give me the details, let’s see how romantic this is going to be. Are there doves? Is there slow-dancing? No, don’t tell me you want a destination wedding,” he groans.

“Stop!” Dean protests, grinning like an idiot. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I want my friends there and I want a gorgeous cake. I’ve got a sweet tooth,” he confesses, tapping the corner of his mouth with a wry smile on his face. “I don’t care about the wedding. I care about the life that comes after.”

“So sweet,” Aidan deadpans. “I may have just contracted diabetes.”

“Arsehole,” Dean accuses.

“Yup,” Aidan says, tapping the passing waiter on the forearm. “Hi, can you bring my friend a piece of your best cake? He’s desperate,” he insists, flashing a charming grin Dean’s way that shouldn’t do as much damage to Dean’s constitution, but it does. For the first time in ages, Dean doesn’t even _remember_ to think about Jared because he’s busy trying to get Aidan to smile like that again – wicked and dastardly and maybe a bit sweet with its charm.

Dean lets out a shaky exhalation and wonders what the hell he’s doing and if this isn’t just a rebound. He doesn’t know why that makes him feel upset or guilty to think of Aidan that way, but right now, he forcefully reminds his brain that they’re friends on a trip. That’s it.

“You know the way to my heart,” Dean says.

“Yeah, you sort of keep telling me,” Aidan points out. “Do you want to hear mine?”

“Your what?”

“My ideal wedding.”

“I thought you were against the idea? Or, not that, but I really didn’t think you were the type to sit around daydreaming about your ideal wedding,” Dean deadpans, shooting Aidan a disbelieving look. “If this is you mocking me…”

“No, I swear,” Aidan interrupts. “Seriously. All I know is that I want there to be Guinness offered at the reception, a great DJ, and the most incredible view so that when I wake up, I’ll get two of the most beautiful things in the world.” He looks up from his drink and the smile he gives Dean isn’t arrogant or charming. It’s shy; it’s considerate.

It’s enough to make Dean glad for the two beds in their room.

“Graham seems pleased you’re writing up his relationship for the papers,” Dean changes the subject, hoping to get away from the topic of Aidan’s (or his) ideal wedding and where that dangerous road could lead. “I don’t think he’s aware how many things he does in his everyday life that really shouldn’t be in the papers.”

Aidan lets out a delighted laugh, his whole face lighting up. “I swear, it has to stay clean,” he promises. “Trust me, I’ve got a whole notebook filled up with the stuff I can’t use, though. I’ll show you if you’re good,” he continues, giving Dean a wink as he digs out his fork, already poking at the dessert the waiter’s brought before it even lands on the table. 

Dean’s quick, though. He grabs his own fork and defends his dessert, blocking Aidan’s fork with a sly maneuver of his fingers.

“Hey!” Aidan protests. “It was my idea!”

“Get your own, you got it for me,” Dean battles back with a bright grin, dueling forks clashing above the table as Aidan keeps trying to get around it. Finally, he relents and takes guilty delight in watching the way Aidan’s lips form around the fork, closing his eyes to truly appreciate the cake in front of him. Dean even goes so far as to offer his next forkful to Aidan, licking his lower lip and ignoring the building need to do something about the things Aidan has begun to make him feel.

Aidan’s intent on watching nothing but Dean, which is the beginning of a dangerous situation.

“So, how’d you get into writing?” Dean asks, desperately willing them away from the tension between them.

Aidan shrugs, his shoulders moving with fluid grace and perfection. “Don’t know, really. I love to write, but I prefer poetry and that sort of thing to what I’m doing now. The weddings are the preferable thing, but I hate writing about charity crap. Actually, your Prince Charming shows up there more often than not. How much money has he got to give?”

“Loads,” Dean sighs. “He’s rich. Gorgeous.”

“Boring,” Aidan interjects. “Seriously, I’ve had to research him for a couple of pieces and there’s never anything fun there.”

Dean didn’t really want to get away to Scotland just to sit around and talk about Jared. He’s trying to get away from the man, not continue to pine for him from afar. What does it say when the new object of your eye spends the entire dinner talking about your former crush? He’s sincerely sure it says that his life is really fucked up.

Dean pokes at the cake in front of him, appetite lost. 

“Shit,” Aidan gets out, a forlorn look on his face. “I made you mad.”

“No, it’s…” Dean sighs. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Aidan says, setting money enough for both of them on the table. “Come on,” he summons, not giving Dean a single second to protest the money being put down. “On your feet, I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

Dean lets out a mild yelp as he’s tugged to his feet and protests with far more than just sounds when Aidan wraps something around his eyes and blindfolds Dean. He carefully takes hold of his shoulders and begins to guide him, Dean abandoning all trust to the man he’s just met. He feels the brisk air of the outdoors hit him and the gravel crunching below, but that is all he knows.

“Aidan, what are you…”

“Shh.”

Dean huffs and waits patiently. Eventually, the blindfold is removed and Dean doesn’t focus on where he is so much as what he’d been blinded with. “My tie,” he protests, reaching out for the garment as his mind flickers through thoughts of ‘and how much like Aidan it smelled’. He turns to yell at Aidan for keeping it, but he’s distracted by the pale moonlight on Aidan’s face and the sight of galaxies and constellations gleaming above.

In a second flat, it knocks Dean’s breath out of his chest and leaves him marveling at the wonders of the world. 

“God,” he gets out, letting out a heady laugh and staring upwards with wonder, barely noticing Aidan’s chin on his shoulder or his hand on his hip. “You always know they’re there – that the lights are blocking them out, but sometimes I forget how insanely beautiful they are.” Dean feels shocked with the wonder of it all, a frisson of pleasure going through him that he’s sharing this with Aidan. “You’re the writer. Don’t you have words for this sort of thing?”

“It’s fucking awesome,” Aidan murmurs, voice a low buzz in Dean’s ear.

Dean laughs and shoots Aidan a disbelieving look. “I was hoping for something more poetic.”

“I’ve seen these stars before. I come up here when I can. What I haven’t seen is…” He trails off and lets out a quiet laugh. “I can’t even say it, it’s so pathetic. Whatever, I’m going for broke. I’ve never seen you in their light before. That’s more beautiful to me than anything else.”

It’s the most sincere compliment Aidan’s given him in all the time they’ve known each other.

It’s why Dean abandons all rational thought. He curls his fingers into his palms as he steps forward, eager for the sloping hill, and he slides his fingers into Aidan’s hair to press a kiss to his lips – only for Aidan to slide his cheek to the side, giving Dean nothing but the peach fuzz of Aidan’s cheek to kiss.

Dean’s heart sinks into his stomach.

“I don’t understand,” he ekes out, barely making it past his wounded dignity. “All those compliments, this whole trip. You…”

“Yeah,” Aidan says, a pained look on his face. “Yeah, I do. And that’s why it’s not about sex. It’s why I don’t want you to kiss me, regret it, and then never talk to me again. I know I come off cocky and with a lot of swagger, but the truth is that I really do like you and I want to see where this can go. I mean, I’m not saying that we should rule out sex and say never, but I’d prefer it if we dated first.”

Aidan wrings his hands, fingerless gloves covering his palms. He looks freezing cold and Dean wants to warm him up – nothing more, solely that. 

“If you kissing me is because it’s beautiful and you feel lonely, then…then no,” Aidan finishes, looking like he’s holding his breath and worrying about what Dean will say.

Dean stares at Aidan’s hands, at how they look slightly blue, and he thinks about dating. He hasn’t dated in years and years, always saving himself for someone who didn’t want him back. Instead of a response, Dean reaches out to clasp hold of Aidan’s fingers, wrapping his palms around them and swearing at the ice to them.

“You’re freezing!”

“Yeah, I run cold,” Aidan admits. “So?”

“So?”

“What do you think? About dating?”

“We could’ve started with something less intense than a mini-break to a wedding chapel,” Dean opines, shooting Aidan a disbelieving look. The whole setting is romantic beyond the stars and the quaint bedrooms they’re staying in. He can only imagine what it’ll be like as soon as they add in the countryside and the mood of weddings.

Dean’ll say this. If Aidan wants to get at his heart, he’s really taking the direct path.

“Yeah,” Dean finally says. “Yeah, I want to date someone.” And then he remembers that ‘someone’ is all-encompassing and could be seen as him being a rude arse. “I want to try dating you,” he says, marveling at how odd those words sound. “Shit,” he manages. “Do you know the last person I dated was back in uni? That’s how long it’s been.”

“Which is a kind way of saying I get the learning curve,” Aidan says, a touch of smugness in his smile. “Good. You won’t even know if I’m fucking up. I can blame it on you not knowing any better.”

Dean rolls his eyes and jabs Aidan lightly in the stomach, reveling in the way Aidan practically recoils back. “What it means is that tonight, I learn whether you snore or not and in the morning, we’ll see if I’m still up for dating you.”

Aidan seems to take that as a challenge or he knows he’s already got it in the bag because there’s nothing but charm in the kiss he presses to Dean’s cheek, sliding his hand tighter into Dean’s and holding on as they stare at the night sky. 

The night is uneventful. Dean manages to fall asleep easily, Aidan doesn’t snore, and in the morning, there are two piping cups of coffee sitting on the desk in the room, two croissants at their side. Dean rubs the sleep out of his eyes and tries to tame down his wild hair, but it’s a lost cause. He really should’ve mentioned to Aidan that his morning face is one of the most terrifying things in the world and that he should be rethinking their relationship after this.

Aidan doesn’t even blink.

“Morning,” he greets, chewing on something that looks suspiciously like apple danishes that are not on Dean’s plate. “Should I let you drink something caffeinated before I attempt conversation?”

Dean manages a sleepy nod and curls back up with his pillow and the sheets, taking the time to check his breath and the pillow lines on his cheek before he sits up, still disoriented and groggy. He tames his hair with both hands, licking his dry lips as he leans forward to steal that cup of coffee, only sloshing a few drops on his pajama bottoms.

“I miss being that young,” Dean grumbles, his voice still hoarse and cracking slightly. Ever since he turned thirty, it’s been rougher to get out of bed in the morning. The coffee does what it’s supposed to, but it’s the home-made croissants that really sing out and wake him up. “Holy shit, these are good. What’d you do to get them?”

“All manners of wicked things,” Aidan drawls, winking as he grabs a hoodie and a set of gloves. “Tell me when you’re ready and we’ll head out.”


	5. Chapter 5

It takes Dean another hour to resemble a human being – a shower, new clothes, and a toothbrush are miraculous in that regard – and he lets Aidan drive their way up the winding paths to the small chapel. Before they even arrive, Dean’s got his good camera out and takes carefully aligned shots. He’s focusing on the bell above the chapel door when he realizes that Aidan’s staring at him.

“What?” Dean asks, laughing nervously at the attention.

“Yesterday, you took my picture. Why?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but the truth is that he doesn’t know.

“When you met Jared, did you take his?”

“Please tell me you’re not going to start feeling insecure next to him,” Dean pleads, eyes wide at the worry of a relationship that never gets away from that.

Aidan bristles. “No, don’t worry about that. I know that he’s a better man than I am, but I’m much funner. No, I want to know. Who gets pictures? The wedding folks, obviously, but who else? What was that one?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits. “I suppose I intended to put it with all the other trinkets from this weekend. Label it ‘Aidan’, shelve it away carefully,” he says, wondering how many weekends and boxes and events he’s missed because he couldn’t see past Jared. Dean offers a hesitant smile, shrugging past the epiphany. “And you’ve got a great profile. I’d love to shoot you in an actual studio, if you’d let me.”

“Does this studio involve a bed?” Aidan asks cheekily, grabbing Dean’s camera-bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he locks the car, idly scribbling notes in his moleskin. “Because I can’t imagine doing anything else if that’s the case.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “A real studio. I’ve a friend who loans it out to me sometimes when I want to do shoots. I’ve completed a couple, lately, but Jared’s got so many clients that I haven’t had time to do anything but work.”

Aidan raises a brow, but doesn’t comment – something Dean’s grateful for. 

He realizes thirty minutes after they arrive that he hadn’t protested Aidan taking the camera-bag, even though he’s threatened severe violence on better friends for the same thing. He’s not sure why, but he feels almost as if he can trust him. Dean peeks over Aidan’s shoulder (best as he can, given the height difference) and looks at the notes. “So, what’s the article about?”

“I start with a few happy couples who had their big shindigs, then I talk to a couple others who eloped to places like this,” Aidan explains, a furrow in his forehead. “It’s not exactly intense journalism. It’s the job that’s paying me, though. It’s not like it stretches my imagination or challenges me, but work does pay for places like the one we’re staying in,” Aidan says, looking at the countryside. “And you can’t really say this is a hardship.”

“No, it is definitely not,” Dean agrees, but his gaze is still on Aidan. He leans forward and presses a playful peck on his cheek, amazed at how one weekend away is making him less morose and pathetic about life.

Maybe he’s only been a shell of himself because he let that happen. Maybe he can actually be a _person_ again. 

Dean hovers behind Aidan as a local guide takes him around the chapel and the town, leaving them inside the church when the tour is done. Dean leaves Aidan at one of the back pews – scribbling as much as he can so he doesn’t forget – and wanders his way to the altar, standing before God and a few random tourists as he sways from heel to the ball of his foot, back and forth.

He’s not sure this is what he’d want. It’s beautiful, sure, but Dean’s friends are part of his life and they’d never forgive him if he eloped – not that it’s even a question. Dean pivots on his heel and looks down the aisle to where Aidan is still writing, his head bent in concentration – dark curls falling over his forehead, his tongue peeking out every time he licks the nub of his pencil.

Maybe he does owe Graham one, Dean’s hesitant to admit. 

Aidan finally looks up and snaps the notebook shut, bounding out of the pew with a sinful roll of his hips, hurrying to get to the altar and join Dean.

“Knew I’d get stood up,” Dean wryly jokes.

“What can I say? Cold feet,” Aidan jokes, sliding a hand to the small of his back. “I’m all done when you’re ready to get out of here. Sadly, while the paper will pay for a night away, two is stretching it. You’re welcome to come back to mine in the city, but…we did just have our second date.”

“Second?”

“The bar was the first,” Aidan says brightly.

“I’ve had a good time, though,” Dean says, aware that he’s flushing like an idiot. “Here,” he says, positioning Aidan near the front pew. “Stand right here,” he says, gauging the natural light streaming in from a window. “Do not move,” he instructs, stepping back until he can capture the picture he wants. “And bow your head.”

Aidan, head bowed, and staring at dust motes in the shaft of light, looks ethereal and every bit the role of an avenging angel stuck in a mortal body. He looks perfect and he’s here with Dean because he wants to be.

“I’ll want copies of all these pictures, you know. I need to make sure you’re getting my good side.”

“You have a bad one?” Dean replies innocently, putting everything away carefully for the drive back. “Hey, let me take you to dinner. On me. It’s the least I can do after you took care of the hotel and the food this weekend. Besides, I know a great diner near to my place that serves the most incredible tuna melts you’ve ever had.”

“I could shuffle my plans.”

“You had plans, did you?”

“Nothing that couldn’t be callously cancelled,” Aidan assures. “My riveting evening involved watching television and making pasta.”

“Oh, clearly more interesting than me,” Dean assures in a deadpan. “I could never take you away from that,” he says, grinning when Aidan gives him a light shove as they walk towards the door, step by step in sync as they move down the aisle. Dean holds the door open for Aidan, checking out his arse as he leaves and finding the view _beyond_ impeccable.

“I know what you’re doing,” Aidan says.

“Good, it deserves to know,” Dean says with a sure nod. “You know, I’m dreading turning my phone back on as soon as we get to the city. I’m fairly sure I’ve been inundated with curious texts as to whether we shagged. You should’ve mentioned to Graham that you weren’t out for a one-nighter.”

Aidan shrugs. “I didn’t know. I didn’t decide to pursue the relationship until I’d met you.” 

Dean opens his phone and, sure as he’d predicted, there’s a slew of texts, one after the other and from a varied number of sources. He almost feels proud of his friends for caring so much. He deleted most of them, but in the deluge of concern, there’s an actual email that makes Dean give a strangled and garbled sound in his throat.

Aidan tightens his hands on the wheel, cautiously looking over in the middle of getting back on the highway. “What?”

“It’s an invitation,” he gets out, a dark laugh on his lips.

“You were expecting that, weren’t you?”

“It’s for the engagement party. Next weekend,” he murmurs, scrolling through the details of the event on his phone. He can see most of the invite list in the copied section and that all their mutual friends will be there, along with free booze. 

Dean takes solace in the fact that he won’t have to suffer through the night without getting drunk. 

Something strikes him suddenly; possibly the best idea he’s had in ages. “Do you want to be my date?” he asks Aidan, thinking that with Aidan at his side, it might actually not be such a bad night. Sure, all his friends will be there, but them meeting him had to happen sometime and this is probably the best way to get it over with. 

Once more, into the breach.

“Really?” Aidan asks dubiously.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “The more I think about it, the more I think…definitely, yeah,” he says. “It’s going to be a shit night, but having you there will make things better. Besides, it’s date number three and I tend to put out by then.”

“We might be waiting until your boss’ engagement party is through,” Aidan informs him, which is probably for the best. Dean sends back a quick RSVP with a ‘plus one’ and that sets off a whole other deluge of texts not ten minutes later. 

He’ll deal with them later, but for now, he turns off his phone and pays attention to Aidan. They talk about inanities the whole drive home from favourite foods and colours to dream vacations they each want to take. Aidan wants to go to New Zealand and Dean promises to take him at some point. 

“Plus, I think my family misses me,” Dean points out.

“Nah, who does that?” Aidan jokes.

Dean tells Aidan all about his dream to have some of his paintings hang in a gallery and that gets Aidan hung up on the fact that Dean paints. “It’s really not such a huge deal,” Dean protests, surprised that it is.

“You take incredible photos, you’re kind, and you paint,” Aidan lists. “I mean, the kindness isn’t really artistic, but I thought I’d throw that in there. You’re…” He maneuvers them into a parking spot outside of the diner Dean had guided them to and puts the car in park. “This is because I want to and because we’re dating and because if I don’t, I’m never going to stop thinking about it.”

“What…?”

Aidan reaches over the gear shift, cups Dean’s cheeks in his hand, and leans in for a slow, tender, _tentative_ kiss. It’s not the sort of kiss he ever imagined from a guy like Aidan, but it’s filled with promise and the chance of more kisses to come. It’s enough to make Dean make an all-together difference noise, filled with a whimper and a need for more.

Aidan slides back and licks his lower lip. “Well?”

“Fuck dinner, get in the backseat,” Dean says, only half-joking.

“Not on the second date, dear,” Aidan replies with a winsome smile, getting out of the car to pull Dean to his feet and into a second kiss, wrapping both arms around Dean’s waist to slide their bodies tightly together and keep them comfortably swaying in the chill of the evening. Dean closes his eyes, surrendering to the kiss. His fingers press softly against Aidan’s neck and he revels in the way Aidan has to bend down slightly to kiss him, lips parting as he gives Aidan permission to deepen the kiss.

The area is fairly quiet, but Dean is grateful that no one is around to watch. Five minutes later, Dean’s pressed up against Aidan’s car and has a hard-on the likes of which he hasn’t in _years_. 

“I don’t think I’m fit for dinner,” Dean confesses.

“Five minutes for you to cool down?” Aidan suggests. “I’ll get a table.”

“I’ll ah, I’ll take a walk,” Dean says, jutting his thumb in the direction of the sidewalk. Aidan winks at him, which only prolongs how long he needs to stay in the cool air. He rounds the block twice and presses his forehead to cool brick to calm himself down from wanting to move this too quickly. He’s guilty of that in the past – moving a relationship along so quickly that it goes breakneck and too quickly. 

He doesn’t want this to be a car crash of a romance. He sort of wants to give it a real try.


	6. Chapter 6

Eventually, he feels able to rejoin Aidan at the diner, pleased to find that Aidan’s already ordered him a vanilla milkshake.

“I had a hunch,” he confesses. “Was it right?”

“Incredible,” Dean says, sipping at the rich drink and placing his order with the waitress. “How’s the article looking?”

“Good,” Aidan provides, slurping down his chocolate milkshake. “Might need a favour, but you’d get paid for it. Think you could send me a few copies of the pictures you took? I could get something free in the public domain, but I’d rather pay you for those gorgeous shots. Besides, then you’d have some more newspaper credits on your CV.”

Dean can’t say no to more money and nods, running his thumb over the icy ridge of the glass. He sucks off the droplets of water from his thumb, taking delight in the way Aidan can’t stop looking at the track of his tongue. Dean raises a brow and licks the corner of his lips, grateful that he’s still got a bit of sway.

“You’re cruel,” Aidan groans.

“I’m the one who suggested the back seat.”

“I’m being a gentleman,” Aidan says, thanking the waitress with bright eyes when she brings them a couple of burgers and a large plate of fries. He swirls a few into the ketchup, digging into the food like he’s a starving man. “Fuck, these are good,” he mumbles, his mouth full as he goes back for seconds. “You’d better eat some or else I’m going to have it all.”

Dean swats at Aidan’s wrist, managing to work his fingers in to grab a handful of fries before they all vanish. 

Dinner’s nice. It’s casual and nothing too deep gets brought up. Dean ends the night by scribbling his home phone number on Aidan’s palm with the pen the waitress brought for the receipt, pressing a kiss to Aidan’s knuckles as he eases back. “So,” Dean says, when they’re standing at his stoop. “When am I going to see you again?”

“As soon as possible?”

“I do need to work, you know,” Dean replies, laughing fondly. “The party’s in less than a week. I can see you then? Work up some anticipation,” he drawls. “And then when the engagement party is over, you can show me how much you’ve missed me,” he says, tone dripping with suggestion. “Sound good?”

“Sounds too far,” Aidan protests. He fists the fabric of Dean’s shirt and hauls him close. “Seriously, a week away?”

“You have to admit it’ll be even better when the week’s over,” Dean points out, leaning in to steal an all-too-brief kiss, pushing at Aidan’s shoulder when he leans in for more. “My turn to deny,” he teases. “I’ll call you during the week. I’ll need to get through the days somehow, might need your voice in my ear to remind me why I shouldn’t fall back in love with my boss.”

“I’ll show up and steal you away. Don’t think I won’t,” Aidan growls. “It’s only been two dates, but I’m not letting that handsome bastard steal you away from me before I get a chance to prove myself.”

“Possessive?” Dean asks, given that he’s not entirely sure.

“I don’t know,” Aidan freely admits. “I guess we’ll have to play it by ear and find out.” He presses one last chaste kiss to Dean’s cheek before he leaves for the night, giving Dean the space to think about the past weekend and all the insane things he’s done that he never thought he’d do.

Twenty minutes after Aidan leaves, Dean sets his phone on the coffee table and waits for it to ring, ready to answer whoever makes it in first. 

With almost no surprise at all, James gets in first.

“I saw him leave.”

“Are you seriously stalking my place…?”

“I do live across the street,” James says evenly. “I saw him go, there looked to be a bit of handsiness between the two of you. I take if that means the weekend was a rousing success? What’s he like?”

“In bed? I wouldn’t know. We haven’t had sex,” Dean says, reclining back on the couch with the phone tucked to his ear. “He wants to date. I agreed with his plan. He’s coming with me to the engagement party.” Dean bites his lip and closes his eyes, caught in the memory of watching Aidan over drinks and dinner and in the next bed over. 

It’s going to be a long week.

“Well?” James prods. “Tell me and I’ll get the word out. Is he going to be an actual boyfriend or shall I call the cavalry together to scare him off for you?”

Dean licks his lower lip and thinks about the promise of the relationship. “I really like him. I want to give this thing a chance.” Which is the strangest thing to say when only a week ago, he was madly in love with someone else, but Aidan has the ability to make him forget that and to give his heart to something else – the chance of something new.

“And we’ll all get to meet him at the party?”

“Who invited you?” Dean sits up, protesting with a squawk.

“Your dear former Prince knows how much all your friends mean to you and invited us all. We’ve accepted, of course,” James promises. “Would’ve accepted, even if you weren’t bringing your new beau to the rodeo. Wear your prettiest suit, will you? You’ve got to impress this bloke, especially if you haven’t slept with him yet.”

Dean sighs tiredly and rubs his eyes. “Please don’t scare him off,” he begs. “I actually like him and things are still so very new. I don’t want him thinking that I’ve got a bunch of idiots for friends, even if that’s the truth. Can’t have him knowing that.”

“Don’t you worry,” James soothes. “Now, get some beauty rest. God knows you need it.”

Dean flips off the air around him, hoping James can sense it on the universal plane.

“Don’t get so offended,” James soothes, as though he genuinely can see when he’s being maligned. “You know it’s only because we love you. Seriously, good on you for finally finding someone who isn’t your straight boss. We were a few weeks out from giving you a proper intervention. This one’s a lot better.”

“Yeah, he’s more attractive, too,” Dean muses, stretching out his legs. “Go to sleep, Nesbitt.”

Dean’s halfway there. Aidan makes him feel comfortable, true, but there’s something about hotel beds that never make him feel well-rested. With the prospect of a new morning ahead of him, he falls easily to sleep and wakes up feeling like a different man. He grins when he leans over and finds that he’s been texted by Aidan while he was asleep. 

_what are you wearing?_ is all it asks. 

Dean rolls his eyes and texts back a quick, ‘boxers’ and nothing more. 

The good mood lasts for hours and he’s whistling by the time he gets to work. Jared barely glances up from his paperwork, but offers an easy smile. “I got you the new chemicals,” Jared says, gesturing with a thumb to the darkroom. “Thought you might want to get started on developing the pictures from the trip. And the ones from…?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean agrees, seeing as he hates being reminded more than once. “I’ll get them to you by the end of the day.”

He lets his gaze linger over Jared’s bent form, aware that while he might be in a relationship with someone new, there are old habits that he can’t manage to get away from. He breathes with a soft hitch and stares forward. “You okay?” Jared asks, a bright smile on his lips.

Dean’s not sure why, but he feels like he needs to come clean about Aidan. It’s not like Jared _knows_ that Dean is madly in love with him – or rather, had been for years – but they’re still friends. Friends deserve to know about each other’s lives and this is starting to get serious, given that every time Dean thinks about Aidan, he goes practically into a convulsion of delight and desire. 

“I’ve started seeing someone,” Dean says, clasping hold of his film. 

He waits.

He’s not sure what he expects. Maybe Dean wants Jared’s face to fall and for a confession to spill past his lips. Maybe he doesn’t want anything at all, but instead, Jared lights up like it’s the best news in the whole world. Dean lets out a broken sigh and musters up a smile and remembers that Aidan might not be perfect, but he’s perfect for him so far.

“You’re seeing someone? Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a delighted smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“You haven’t dated anyone in years, not as long as I’ve known you. This new one must be special,” Jared says, rounding his desk and getting close, practically hovering in Dean’s personal space. Jared pokes a finger against Dean’s shoulder and taps lightly at his cheek. “Who is this lucky girl? Guy? You go both ways, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, fighting the insane need to step back. “His name’s Aidan. I met him a bit ago, we went away for the weekend. We’re dating.” He feels the shape of the words as he says them. “We’re dating,” he gets out again, as shocked as Jared looks when he feels how wonderful it is to think about that. “I’m dating him, but it’s new. Which means that I haven’t slept with him,” he says loudly, trying to cut Jared off before that’s his next question.

Jared holds up both hands in innocent protest. “I was going to ask if he’s coming to the engagement party.”

“He’s my date,” Dean agrees. Jared’s still entirely too close for comfort. 

Dean exhales and thinks of Aidan instead and the charming way he laughs and the idiot way his eyes have crinkles and how his lips have wrinkles to match. He thinks about the way Aidan lights up when Dean tells a joke and the profile of his face when Dean takes pictures of him. He thinks about the warmth Aidan’s body kicks off when they’re in the same room together and then he looks at Jared again.

This time, the overwhelming desire is absent.

Maybe there’s hope for Dean, after all. 

Jared claps Dean on the shoulder. “You’re actually seeing someone. This is amazing, seriously.”

“Why do you sound so shocked?” Dean protests. “I mean, I’m somewhat gorgeous, you know. I’m talented. I’m witty…”

“And you’re completely uninterested in dating,” Jared interrupts. “Can you blame me for thinking maybe you hated everything and everyone or something? You’re completely all those things, Dean. I just started to wonder if you knew it, too.”

Fern’s a lucky woman. Dean’s known this for ages, but every day that passes only confirms it. Jared’s kind and always knows the right thing to say. In this case, it’s right enough to make him feel better about this whole situation. Dean takes another step back as though he needs the extra space to protect him. 

“I’m gonna head into the darkroom. I’ll see you at the end of the day,” he jokes.

“Remember to come out for air.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean waves as he takes the remainder of his film in with him. Time’s always flown by while he’s in the dark space and he doesn’t know how much time has passed when there’s a knock at the door. He’s in the middle of hanging up one of the last of the photos, but he ignores it, figuring Jared will come back later.

The knock comes again.

Dean rolls his eyes as he pins up a photograph. “Jared, fuck off,” he says good-naturedly. 

“Not Jared. He popped out before I got here, there was a sign on the door saying someone would be back in five.” Something shakes from outside, something that sounds like it’s in a box. “I brought snacks.”

Aidan, then.

Dean grins and presses his hip to the door. “You can’t come in,” he teases. “This is a dark room. It has to stay dark otherwise everything gets ruined.” He bites his lip and presses his temple to the door, feeling light as air. “Turn off all the lights out there,” he coaxes. “And draw the curtain.”

He waits.

He counts to ten.

“Ready?” Dean asks. 

“Let me in,” Aidan says, quiet and Dean pauses for another moment before he draws the door open. Aidan is shrouded in shadow and with his brows down, he looks like a creature of the night, but the moment he wanders into the glow of the developing room, he’s something else entirely. “Hi,” Aidan whispers, offering out the box. “They’re pastries.”

“You didn’t see Jared?” Dean asks.

“No, not that I didn’t want to. I want to see where you worked and whether this was where Jared made you fell in love with him. I wanted to see work-Jared,” Aidan teases, popping open the box and stealing a few pastries before Dean can even have his chance.

Dean draws the box back. 

“You have a problem with boundaries.”

“So sue me,” Aidan says, lips curling up with delight. He kisses Dean hard enough to send them stumbling back. Icing sugar from the pastries falls down to the ground and Dean doesn’t even care for a moment, desperately kissing back. 

Dean moans desperately, years of pent-up lust practically spilling over, and he twines his fingers in Aidan’s hair, gripping as hard as he can. He pulls Aidan’s head back, giving him the space to press a bruising kiss to Aidan’s throat, eager to make a mark that everyone will see. Dean rubs his fingers over the now-red mark when he eases back, grasping Aidan’s hand to bring him along to where the photos are drying.

“Dirty deeds at work,” Aidan murmurs, goosing Dean’s arse. “Is this the kind of reward I get for dropping by unexpectedly with dessert?”

“You’ll get more if you’re good.” 

Aidan grins wildly and hops onto a spare table, leaning his forearms on his thighs as he peers at the room around him. “Are the pictures here from this weekend? I actually might have had a legitimate reason to come see you. My editor’s bumped up my deadline, so if you want the pictures included, I need them by tomorrow evening,” he says apologetically. “If it’s too fast…”

“No,” Dean cuts him off, searching through the line. “They’ll be ready,” he promises. “Colour or black and white?”

“One of each might be safest, yeah,” Aidan admits, looking through the pictures. Dean catches him in the middle of a fond and soft smile. “There’s a lot of me in here.”

“Don’t be too flattered. I saved you for last,” Dean deadpans. 

“That’s where you put the best,” Aidan scoffs, waggling his brows. “So? Did your mates give you shit?”

“Mostly about not sleeping with you, yet,” Dean says, hating that he’s willing to tell Aidan so much. He’s always been open, except when it comes to the most important things. To this day, despite being a serial monogamist, he’s never said the words ‘I love you’ out loud. He’s never been the one to ask for more.

He’s scared shitless of it falling apart, after all. 

“And they all look forward to grilling you at the engagement party,” Dean says, plucking up a macaroon from the box. “I think Richard’s going to have a hell of a time with you, seeing as he actually does it for a living, being a detective and all. When he shines the bright light in your face, remember you don’t need to give him your intimate details.”

“Couldn’t, anyway,” Aidan replies. “Don’t have them yet. And when I do get them, I’m going to hoard them away like treasure. That okay?” he asks, leaning forward like he’s actually giving Dean an option in this.

Dean laughs and shakes his head. “How many copies do you need?” he asks, keeping things professional.

“Three, ta,” Aidan says, hopping off the table. He presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “You’ve got the address of my office. You can send them there. And you,” he says, poking Dean in the chest. “I’ll see you at the engagement party. I’ll meet you there? I can’t help but feel like an idiot who wants to see you for the first time there. Promise you’re wearing a suit?”

“No promises,” Dean says, shaking his head even though he already has the suit he plans to wear hung up in his closet. “And you? What are you wearing?”

Aidan flashes a wicked grin and leans in the doorway, winking before he leaves without Dean getting an idea of what he’s in for. 

Dean exhales sharply. He takes the time to finish the rest of the roll of film, organizes his room, and that’s when he goes for his phone and texts Lee immediately, asking him to call. He picks up on the first ring and gets through seven sentences in one breath. “How do you cope with being so gorgeous? Aidan’s been here asking what I’m wearing to the thing and he’s going to meet you, he’s going to meet all of you, and all he wants to know is what I’m wearing. Holy shit, Lee, what do I do?”

“Hi, Dean,” Lee says. 

“Do I need to repeat it?”

“No, I got it,” Lee promises, amused. “Do you want to talk to Anna?”

Dean exhales deeply and stares at the picture of Aidan. “I need to remember how to date.”

“That part, I can’t help you with. I’ll see you at the party?”

“You didn’t help at all.”

“I get away with it by being gorgeous.”

“Arse,” Dean mutters, hanging up and pacing for a while. He can do this. He can absolutely do this and function like a normal person. He chews thoughtfully on the remainder of the desserts left in the box, finishing with the pictures before he heads out for the night.

The suit is still hanging up in his closet. 

Dean looks at it with a fond grin, draping a bowtie over the shoulder of the suit. 

*

The engagement party is filled to the brim. Dean’s always known that Jared’s got a lot of friends, but this is really pushing the envelope. He manages to squeeze in past a few people he vaguely recognizes from one of the hospital charities Jared sponsored. He smiles warmly, straightening his bowtie, and heads for the bar where he sees Emmett and Ben, a couple boys from New Zealand that he met at an ex-pat bar.

“This is insane,” Dean says, eyes wide. “All these people are here for Jared and Fern?”

“Everyone loves the two of them, can you blame them?” Emmett says fondly, sliding a drink into Dean’s hand. “Jared told us that you’ve got your own boyfriend, you know,” he teases. “Someone _Irish_.”

“Is this because I wouldn’t date someone local?” Dean complains. 

Ben shrugs. “Man…”

“He’s stoned, isn’t he?” Dean asks.

“Always,” Emmett sighs fondly. “Are we going to meet this guy?”

“I think everyone is,” Dean admits, seeing as he can see James and Richard nearby. He reaches a hand up to wave at them, seeing a lot of other friends around that he has to say hello to. For now, though, he sort of feels at home, as far away as he is. “I met him at Graham and Adam’s wedding, so if you see the both of them, don’t let them get away with their smug crap.”

“I have nowhere near the power to make those two less than smug,” Emmett points out evenly. “I do have the power to get you another drink.”

“I summon you forth, great master Skilton,” Dean intones, nodding and clapping Ben on the back fondly. He settles in while he has a chance, spending the next half hour talking about nothing at all. He’s lubricated with alcohol well-enough that he feels relaxed and no longer panicked about the reams of people he knows grilling Aidan.

Who is, as Dean checks his watch, fashionably late.

“Don’t worry,” Ben murmurs. “I’m sure he’ll be here.”

“Maybe he’s getting extra gussied for you,” Emmett teases.

“For Dean? I hope so,” says a new voice. Jared’s standing at the table, making room beside Emmett. It feels like coming back to where they started. When he and Jared first got to Auckland, Emmett and Ben were the first friends they’d made. With everyone else back home, they’re as needed as ever. 

Emmett and Ben, of course, know about Dean’s insane crush on Jared. They’ve been good enough not to say anything. 

“At least he’s with someone else, it must be a huge relief that he’s not hung up on your anymore,” Emmett blurts out with a high giggle, drunk on tequila and bad sense.

At least, they’d always had the sense not to say anything until _right this second_. 

Dean glares at Emmett, Ben smacks him on the thigh, and Emmett figures it out pretty quickly.

“What’s everyone so shocked about?” 

Right, because the only thing that makes this situation any worse is adding Aidan into it. Dean looks up to make a snide remark about him having perfect timing, but his mouth goes dry when he sees the crisp shirt he’s wearing (Dean’s, it’s definitely Dean’s) and the argyle vest atop it, matched with a pair of far-too-tight jeans. 

Jared’s not looking at Aidan, as it turns out.

He’s looking straight at Dean.

“You never told me,” Jared manages. 

“I…”

“Dean.”

Dean clasps onto Aidan’s arm and hauls himself up. “Get me out of here, please,” he begs Aidan, throwing a fraught look back in Jared’s direction. There’s wonder and shock and something like annoyance and fear on his face and Dean can’t stay another second to see what comes next. He exhales and feels that panic rising in his chest that means that he needs another drink. 

“What happened?” Aidan asks, resting a hand protectively on the small of Dean’s back.

“Emmett just told Jared about me being in love with him,” Dean says. Sure, not those exact words, and sure, there might still be a little wiggle room, but Jared’s not a stupid man and he’s going to figure it out. “I might not even have a job come tomorrow,” he realizes, sinking down into the nearest chair.

“You need a drink?” Aidan asks worriedly. 

“I need ten.”

Aidan’s gone for a mercifully short time, dragging a chair next to Dean and pressing the drink into his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Why?” Dean replies. “That my mate has a big mouth when he gets tipsy? You’d be apologizing pretty much most days he gets drunk. Seriously, the only reason I know half as much as I do about my friends is because Emmett can’t shut up.”

He still feels like he might burst into a cold sweat, still feels overly panicked, and that his breaths are far too shallow. He tries to look across the bar to find Jared, but stops himself before he can do that since it definitely won’t lead to anything good. He’s grateful for Aidan’s presence, even doubly grateful for the easy way Aidan rubs soothing circles against Dean’s knee.

“Shit,” Dean exhales. “He was never supposed to find out.”

“What’s the worst thing that can happen?” Aidan asks, draping his arm casually around Dean’s shoulders and holding him in close. 

There’s a lot of worst that Dean’s been imagining. 

“I could be fired? Lose my job, lose my green card, have to head back to Auckland and miss all my friends and you,” Dean points out. The last part’s the one that’s hitting home the worst right now. He can find another job and his friends will be there for him in some form of another, but given how new the thing is between him and Aidan, it’s not like he has expectations for it to continue if he has to go back.

He leans forward, trying to coax air back into his lungs.

“Deano, I think you might be done for the night,” Aidan says apologetically. “At least, with this. Come on. Let’s go see your friends and I’ll let them interrogate me about the stupidest and most inane things. Then, when you’re fully done for the night, I’ll escort you out, you’ll get a cab, and you’ll go home. You’ll call me in the morning and I promise, it’ll be better.”

“You’re very optimistic,” Dean says wryly. 

“I have to be. I’m heavily invested in you staying here.” It lacks Aidan’s usual confidence, shadowed by insecurity and worry. He’s as worried as Dean is, about this, and it feels good to know that he’s not the only one freaked out about this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Technically should have gone up with this morning's chapter, this part, hence why so short)

They sit there quietly for a while, none of Dean’s friends coming near – which Dean is beginning to suspect is because of Aidan’s dour glare. 

Eventually, Dean can’t take the worry of repercussion anymore. “Let’s get out of here.” He manages a smile. “C’mon. You go to your home, I go to my home, and in the morning we go and get pancakes.” He draws Aidan nearer to him and kisses him firmly on the lips, not bothering to let go of his hand. 

He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone, aware that could get him in shit later, but he’ll cope with the consequences when his night isn’t as shit as this one is. Dean kisses Aidan one last time before he puts him in a cab, already feeling like he’s made the wrong choice when the forlorn feeling strikes him straight in the heart.

The feeling only magnifies when he hears a familiar voice behind him, calling his name.

“Did Emmett mean it?” Jared asks, standing outside the bar without his coat on. Dean had intended to take the next, but he turns, pulling his coat tighter around his torso to ward off the chill. “What he said, about you being hung up on me? Was that…recent?”

Jared’s engaged and Dean is dating someone else. He figures that if ever there was a time to actually tell the truth, now would be it. “Pretty recent, if you can count up to a month ago as recent,” he confesses. “Seriously, please forget it?”

“I can’t,” Jared gets out, a pained look on his face.

Dean’s never been punched in his life and he really hopes that tonight isn’t going to change that fact. 

“I followed you here,” Jared says.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean laughs (because it’s the only thing he can manage), furrowing his brow in confusion. “You said you were going to move overseas and start a new business and that you needed someone to help, so I came. By definition, I’m pretty sure that’s me following you.”

“You talked about moving to England and starting up a PR business for charities,” Jared says, stepping closer. Dean barely remembers it, honestly, doesn’t know what Jared’s talking about. “We were pissed beyond belief and Tim was there with his wife. You and I were drinking shots like idiots and you came up with the idea, but you didn’t have any money. So after a week of checking my finances, I bought my ticket.”

“I don’t remember any of this.”

“Yeah, well, you were pretty wasted,” Jared admits.

“Okay, so? You followed me,” he says, trying not to think about his conversation with Aidan about why people follow each other. It doesn’t apply here because he and Jared aren’t like that and have never been. “What does it matter?”

“You really don’t remember that night.”

“What! What about that night!” Dean snaps, at the end of his rope.

Jared lets out a frustrated growl and closes the distance between them. Before Dean can protect himself from the incoming assault, Jared’s on him – one hand fisted up in his shirt and the other grasping his jaw hard, the only prelude he receives before Jared’s kissing him in this bone-melting, spine-numbing kiss that makes Dean sag forward with a whimper.

It can’t be real. This has to be a dream.

Finally, Jared lets go of him, regret and disappointment on his face. “Shit,” is all he gets out. “I had to do that once…”

“What happened that night?” Dean exhales for what feels like the twentieth time.

“I bought us our fifth round of tequila shots,” Jared explains, “and you licked salt off my hand and lemons from my mouth. You looked at me like you wanted to devour me and I asked you if you’d consider waiting until we were both sober and then giving me a go-ahead or a do-not-pass-go. You never brought it up again, so I thought…”

“You thought I didn’t want it,” Dean realizes. 

“Yeah. So, I went out with Fern, we dated, and things were so easy. Honestly, it was so easy to fall for her and I do. I do I love her, I really do, but there’s always been this part of me that’s wondered if you and I couldn’t…anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I’m still marrying her. I love her, I do,” he admits, giving Dean a sad smile. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking that it could have been us.”

“I really thought you were straight,” Dean admits. 

“What can I say? I’m good at making sure my private life stays private.” He reaches over and squeezes Dean’s arm. “You have a ride home?”

Dean nods, but it’s not home that he intends on visiting. He makes it through an incredibly awkward hug with Jared before he piles into the next cab that arrives, exhaling and ripping the bowtie from his collar when he feels like it’s choking him. “Shit,” he gets out, eking out Aidan’s address to the cabbie and slumping in his seat as they drive.

He has to wonder when this became his life? He has to wonder how it’s _possible_ that Jared could ever have had a thing for him and he’d never known.

Not that it matters, not now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I put an ending chapter to this! Yes, there's only one more part after this one, which means that I hope everyone has been enjoying the ride! I'm hoping to have it done by Wednesday, but I try not to make sure promises.

When he gets to Aidan’s place, he can’t bring himself to knock on the door. 

He stands there in the hallway for what feels like an eternity, but all he can think about is the fact that he can still taste Jared on his lips every time he licks them. He thinks about that conversation, and he thinks about the fact that everything he’d wanted showed up three years late. And then he asks himself if he even wants that anymore and knows the answer.

Finally, Dean pounds on Aidan’s door, hoping that he hasn’t passed out.

“Aid. Aidan,” he calls. “It’s me, please, answer. Please let me in!” His knocking turns more urgent, his mind a jumbled mess and the one thing he needs is to talk it out before things get more confusing and make him feel even more lost. He rests his forehead on the door, letting out a frustrated groan when he doesn’t hear any movement inside.

He turns and rests his back against the door, which is when Aidan decides to open up, sending Dean tripping right back into his arms.

Lucky for him, Aidan catches him.

For a while, Dean sort of doesn’t want to move and he’s just this side of tipsy that it’s probably not the best idea if he does. Still, this isn’t a conversation that ought to be had without some face to face contact and he knows that, he does. It’s why he places his hands atop Aidan’s and stands up, exhaling as he turns around. “Jared caught up to me,” he gets out.

“Shit, Dean,” Aidan sighs, closing the door and leading him inside. “Are you okay? What happened? Was it as bad as you were fearing?”

“No, it…”

“Dean?”

“He followed me here,” Dean says, the words still sounding strange to his ears. “Aid, he followed me. He told me that and then he kissed me,” he says. “I always thought he was straight and it turns out I was the idiot who got too drunk to see his interest in me.” He laughs, strangled, and closes his eyes. “I swear to god, I didn’t kiss back, he…it was over within seconds and he’s still getting married.”

“He kissed you,” Aidan repeats, darkly.

Dean opens his eyes and winces when he sees the look of abject fury on Aidan’s face. “Okay, this is not a reason to haul off and beat him up. He’s marrying Fern, he’s happy with her, I think it was one of those…you know, things that could have been.”

“Did you like it?”

“What?” Dean asks, not sure when they managed to find this line of questioning.

“When he kissed you, did you like it?”

Dean licks his lips and considers what he wants to say. There’s something like a lie on his lips that wants to be nostalgic and admit that it’s everything he ever wanted, but that’s three years ago and that’s not now. “I kept thinking that it was a kiss that should’ve come years ago, if at all. It was…it was nothing like when we kiss.”

“Fucker,” Aidan growls. “I know he’s your friend, Dean, but I’m sort of predisposed to be pissed at him right now.”

Dean shifts in his seat, sliding onto his knees and shifting until he’s straddling Aidan’s lap, cupping his cheeks with his hands. Most of the alcohol has worn off, but what remains gives him the liquid courage he needs to push this when he’s still not sure about what Aidan wants in him beyond a trial relationship. “I think I might quit,” he confesses. “I mean, sure, we seem to be civil, but that’s going to be one hell of an awkward Monday at the office.”

Aidan looks up at Dean with something like wonder. “That’s a pretty big call, Deano.”

“It’s not really what’s on my mind right now, but it felt like I had to say it,” he admits, arching his back enough to slide closer to Aidan. “I know tonight was something of a shambles, but do you think we can still count it as a date?” he asks quietly, brushing a slow kiss over Aidan’s lips. 

He’s buoyed with hope when Aidan clasps hold of his hips and grabs him closer. “I need to know this is about us,” is all he warns. “Not him, not you two, but us. I need to know you’re sober enough to want this and…fuck…” he groans. 

“Okay, so, maybe tonight…we start slow,” Dean offers, because he wants to promise Aidan that he is all of those things, but if there’s a shred of doubt, he doesn’t want to let it exist so that it could fester. He wants to make sure that things between them are about _them_ , not ex’s and old flames and feelings. Dean bites his lip and eases off Aidan enough to loosen his jeans, popping the button and sliding the zip down. “Weren’t in bed, I see.”

“Was watching old films,” Aidan admits. “I love Casablanca.”

“We should watch it sometime,” Dean says conversationally, sliding his hand into Aidan’s boxer-briefs. “I definitely love the classics.” He shifts to get comfortable, nudging his cheek against Aidan’s shoulder as he strokes with slow consideration, taking delight in each breathy exhalation Aidan offers.

Slow means he finds out what Aidan likes and what he doesn’t. Given Dean’s decision, he knows that he wants to be with Aidan and that means keeping track of all the things he likes. He slides his thumb up and down his cock curiously, watching as that seems to be the beginning of enough, but not enough to bring Aidan to fruition. 

Dean likes it hard and fast. He wants relief and never put much mind to how he’s going to get it and seeing as he’s had three years of sex with only his hand for company, he’s pretty well-versed in how to get off – and quickly.

This is much better, though.

This is coaxing whimpered noises from Aidan and grinning every time Aidan gets his name out. By the time Aidan comes all over his hand, Dean’s as good as sober again and is harder than he’s been in years. He shifts to get comfortable in Aidan’s lap, grasping his hand by the wrist and guiding it to where he can get at Dean’s cock and help him out with the problem. 

Dean finishes off settled in Aidan’s lap and has already decided that he’s not intending to move. He’ll borrow some of Aidan’s clothes in the morning, but right now, he feels secure and _good_ where he’s settled against Aidan.

Aidan’s wiped his hands off on the blanket, joking about having to do laundry in the morning, and has turned to sliding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “You’re really okay? About the part where the man you were in love with turned out to want you back?”

“I missed my chance,” Dean admits. “And besides, even if Fern weren’t involved…I’ve got you, now.”

He _feels_ Aidan’s grin against his temple and that brightens Dean’s mood considerably. There’s a lot he has to learn about how to date someone and there’s a lot about Aidan he still doesn’t know, but he’d rather take the risk and find out rather than go backwards and fall right back into an old routine where he wants someone he can’t have.

“Sleep?” Aidan mumbles tiredly. 

“Bed,” Dean clarifies.

“Knew you were just trying to get in between my sheets.” 

In the morning, Aidan’s wrapped up tight around him and doesn’t even comment on how horrifying Dean is without coffee, a toothbrush, and breakfast. In fact, he looks fairly smitten. Dean’s not sure what he did to deserve this, but he’s not going to argue it.

*

“Don’t look so nervous,” Martin chastises. 

Dean’s busy straightening his tie _again_ , grateful for the full-length mirror in the room. “Why not?”

“Maybe because you’re the photographer? And if you want a picture taken of you, you get to plan it. It’s possibly the most ingenious thing anyone can do,” Emmett points out from where he’s sprawled on the couch. “Hey, champagne for everyone?” he suggests, reaching for the full flutes. “Jared paid for nearly a baker’s dozen and it’d be a shame if we didn’t go through it.”

Dean smirks and raises his camera to take a shot. 

“Hey!”

“For prosperity,” Dean insists. “And possibly blackmail, depending how this night pans out.” He leans in to steal one of Emmett’s glasses away, winking as he drains back the rest of it. 

“So when is this shindig getting started?” James asks, lounging near the door. “Not that I mind this whole groomsmen suite Mr. Perfect put together…” Given that James has also managed to procure an entire tray of hors d’oeuvres for himself, he really has no license to complain about any delay. 

There’s a knock at the door, followed by a nervous cough. “Hey, is Dean in there? I sort of need him.”

It’s possibly the worst thing you could say – well, no, with Dean’s friends, _anything_ is the worst thing – but it still gets hoots and hollers and catcalls from everyone. Dean rolls his eyes and puts him camera in Graham’s hands for safekeeping as he opens the door to greet Aidan with a bright smile and a quick kiss to the lips. “Hey,” he greets. “What’s wrong?”

They’ve been dating for six whole months. True, there have been a couple hiccups here and there, but conquering them has proved to be the best thing for them. Now, Dean has a drawer at Aidan’s place, Aidan spends full weekends on Dean’s photography trips, and they’ve started looking through real estate for a place of their own.

“I’m trying to remember what Fern told me to say to you,” Aidan confesses.

“This doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Aidan promises, as helpful as can be. “There might be a slight…flooding issue? With the altar and…yeah, it’s best if you come see.”

He grasps hold of Dean’s hand and drags him out of the room before Dean even has time to shout back to the others that he’ll only be gone for a few moments. The inside of the reception hall looks as beautiful as always, but Dean’s pretty quick to spot the problem when they get to the small chapel. 

To be fair, you’d have to be blind not to notice the few inches of water surrounding the area near the altar.

“The maintenance person says it’s some kind of burst pipe,” Aidan explains in a hurry, dragging Dean onwards.

“Wait, hold on, what…”

“Come on! They’re out here!” Aidan says, dropping behind to give Dean a literal push in the arse. Dean’s not sure why they’re going outside to the gardens when the problem is _inside_ and as official best man, he’s probably supposed to be solving the issue. Aidan’s not letting up, keeping one hand on Dean’s person at all times to keep him moving.

Eventually, Dean’s not sure what the hell is going on. “Aid,” Dean protests. “What the fuck?”

“I told you. Fern sent me to get you,” Aidan says, repeating the words like he’s a dutiful puppy completing a trick. “Yes! Found ‘em,” he says cheerfully, giving Dean one last push. “Go on, then. I’ll be back with the others.” Dean turns to ask what’s going on, but Aidan’s already jogging lightly across the grounds in the direction of the hall.

Dean turns and wanders the last bit of the way to where Fern, Jared, and Fern’s sister are standing. “What just happened?”

“With the flooding, we sort of thought we’d go a bit more private,” Fern explains, gesturing to the floral canopy over them. “Jared wants you to be his witness, if you’re okay with that.” 

Dean realizes, belatedly, that he’s still wearing the camera around his neck. 

“What if I’m photographer first? You still want to remember this day, private or not,” he points out, giving an assenting nod. He’s grateful they think this well of him and while it does weigh on him that it’s yet another wedding that he’s so close to, but not actually the groom, it’s fine. It’s okay. 

It’s Jared and it’s the first day of his life with Fern, officially.

That’s all he thinks about as he focuses on taking pictures to place the day into memory.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's followed along with this from the start, thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this little ride and here we are at the end!

Twenty minutes later, they’re man and wife and Dean’s gone through at least five hundred photos that they can choose from later – though, knowing Jared, they’re all going to make the final cut. He’s checking one of the candids when he feels a heavy weight on his shoulder – looking up to see it’s Jared’s hand.

“Hey!” he greets brightly. “Look at you, hitched.”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s good,” Jared admits, staring at Fern with such fondness that it practically suffuses from his skin. “Thanks for doing this on such short notice. The idea of waiting until they bailed out all the water from the chapel sort of sat poorly with us. This way, we get the ceremony part done and everyone gets to party and eat cake. Win win, right?”

“It was beautiful,” Dean insists. “Seriously. You’re going to love the pictures.”

“Of course I will,” Jared promises. “You took them. And now, I have been elected by our group of friends to inform you of a decision we’ve made that affects you directly.”

Decisions that come from the group never tend to end well. Dean looks at Jared with all the trepidation it deserves and nods, bracing himself for the worst.

“You are no longer allowed to attend any wedding as either groomsman or photographer until it’s your own. You can be a guest,” Jared allows. “But you can’t do the pictures and you can’t stand up there in the party until you’re the groom.”

“This sounds like a decision I should’ve been a part of.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jared agrees with a grin. “Funny how we went over your head.”

Dean presses his lips together and mock-smacks Jared in the upper arm, fixing the bowtie he’s wearing before he lightly strangles the back of his neck. “Yeah, fine. Fine! I agree, but only because I was starting to become concerned with my own life, too.” He gives Jared a light tap. “Come on, get, go, off to your new wife to dance the night away. I’ve got a room full of groomsmen to appease.”

“Already done. Why else would I send in all that extra champagne?” Jared teases wryly. “I think someone’s waiting to dance with you, though.”

Dean’s lips curve up in sly amusement, taking his time to head back to the hall. He hands off his camera to Lee with a quiet question for a favour. He should be pretty offended by how quickly Lee takes the camera and shoves Dean in the direction of the dance floor, but seeing as Aidan’s dancing like he’s having a seizure in the middle of the floor, he understands the danger of letting Aidan dance alone.

“You look like you’re a giraffe having electric convulsions,” Dean shouts above the music, sliding his hands into Aidan’s pockets from behind, plastering his front to Aidan’s back. “How drunk are you?”

“Oh, fucking wasted,” Aidan admits with a nod. “You were gone ages and they kept bringing more champagne into the waiting room.” Dean leans forward, getting a good view of Aidan’s profile and the way he licks his lips every time he’s about to speak. “Seriously, I might be made more of bubbles than actual water. Fair warning.”

“Lucky for me, that’ll wear off in an hour or two,” Dean murmurs fondly, swaying to the music and digging his hands out of Aidan’s pockets to rest comfortably on his hips. He presses his nose to Aidan’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of his cologne and trying to think of a time when Aidan wasn’t in his life. “Hey, so, I was thinking…”

“Mm?”

“Seeing as you and the rest of our friends have decided for me that I’m out of the wedding photo business, maybe I should get serious about those studio sessions,” Dean admits, his smile widening when Aidan turns and rewards Dean with one of his brilliant grins. “Stop it, you’ll blind me,” Dean protests fondly.

“I get to a model, right? You promised!”

“Yes, you’ll be one of my models,” Dean assures, kissing Aidan’s jaw softly, brushing his nose against the warmth behind Aidan’s ear. “You’re good with full nudity, right? And having that on display for dozens to see?”

Aidan playfully swats at Dean, but brings him back into his personal space as quickly as he’s been pushed away. “You promised those would be just for us,” he growls, biting back his broad grin. “You know I keep those in an album for when you and Jared are out of town.”

“I know, you keep telling me when you call me. I’m half-afraid the government is tapping our phones and I’m going to be indicted for porn,” Dean mocks, grinning as the song turns slower and he’s able to wrap his arms around Aidan’s waist, one hand resting possessively tight on the small of his back. “You ever think this would be us? Dancing at a wedding? Dancing at my boss’ wedding?”

“I’m pretty sure I knew I’d be going to a lot of weddings. Graham sort of described you as a wedding charm,” Aidan confesses. “Good luck for people who want to get married and it’s not like you can argue it,” he points out before Dean can argue. “Babe, I’ve been your date to four of these things, all your dear friends. You are blessed with an ability to get people to take the step into happily ever after.” Aidan leans in before he confesses, “I love it,” in a quieter tone. 

“Good, because I’m pretty sure Jed’s about to propose and…” Aidan shuts him up with a firm kiss to his lips, dips him, and Dean’s head is effectively emptied of any thoughts beyond spending all his spare time doing exactly this.

*

On Friday morning, Dean wakes up to fifty messages on his phone.

He turns over in bed and groans, burying his face against Aidan’s shoulder while trying to ignore the face of his phone. “Why are my friends flooding my voicemail?” he murmurs groggily, shoving it to the end-table so he can occupy his fingers with far more important work – namely, loosening the drawstring of Aidan’s sweats. “Morning,” he murmurs fondly, voice still rough with sleep.

Aidan’s not a morning person. 

That’s been made very clear in their time together – nearing a year, now – and in the months they’ve been living together, Dean’s learned that Aidan will wake up for exactly three things; coffee, his boss, and sex. Dean’s banking on the third since the automatic drip starts about twenty minutes from now and Aidan’s submitted his column, so his boss won’t be chasing him down.

Dean breathes warm air against Aidan’s neck, tickling stray strands of hair to get his attention before Dean slips his hand around Aidan’s half-hard cock, the morning tenting his interest without Aidan’s permission.

“What day is it?” Aidan mumbles tiredly.

“Friday, babe, we covered this,” Dean says, even though he hasn’t. He’d rather focus on bringing Aidan off. He shifts closer, hitching his leg over Aidan’s to draw him in closer while he jacks Aidan off to get the edge off. “Why’s it matter?”

“You read the paper?” Aidan asks sleepily.

“I’m fucking you with my hand, you want me to stop and read the paper?” Dean asks incredulously.

Aidan actually _pauses_ to think about it, the arse. “Nah, I think this is good.” He sprawls onto his back, which brings Dean half-atop him. Dean laughs and takes his time kissing Aidan slowly, drawing him into a more alert and awake state. “You’re so good at that,” Aidan praises, wrapping his fingers over Dean’s to help him along. “After this, the paper though…?”

“You write something good this week?”

“I always write good things!” Aidan says defensively. “But yeah, this week’s good. My editor fucking _loved_ it,” he says giddily. “Fuck, faster,” he coaxes, moaning deeply and turning Dean on so badly that he wonders if this is going to ever fade.

He sort of hopes not.

Dean slides his free hand over Aidan’s bare torso as he kisses him, bringing him off with a steady and sure rhythm they’ve established in their time together. Aidan’s the first guy that Dean’s been with seriously and while they have their fights and their rough spats, he honestly can’t think of anyone else he’d rather be with. For all of Aidan’s fun, he can be childish, but then Dean remembers how Aidan makes him laugh and how they can watch crap reality television together and bake cupcakes on a Sunday afternoon and how Dean’s never wanted to share his life with anyone else like this.

He’s pretty sure he needs to make it permanent, soon.

Aidan shouts Dean’s name as he comes. “I never get tired of hearing that,” Dean admits with a sly grin, pressing a victorious kiss to Aidan’s lips. “You wanna do me?”

Aidan gives a tired whine. “I’m not twenty-one,” he protests. “You can fuck me, though?”

“Nah, not that hard,” Dean admits. “Blow?”

Aidan shrugs and wriggles his way down to Dean’s waist, grabbing hold of his hips as he sucks Dean off with the practice of someone who’s made a habit of sucking Dean off. Aidan’s got real skill with his tongue and pretty soon, Dean’s fisting the bedsheets in his hand, babbling nonsense, profanity, and Aidan’s name intertwined in some language that only he speaks. 

Dean lets his head fall back against the pillows, mouthing a brief ‘holy shit’ when Aidan sucks and then hums, taking him deep. 

“You just fucking woke up and you…” Dean babbles his protest at how ungainly Aidan’s skills are. Still, he can’t be too mad seeing as Aidan’s putting them to good use with _him_. “Aidan, I…yeah, it’s…” He threads his fingers into Aidan’s curls and gives one good tug to give him fair warning that he’s ready to go.

Bless his beautiful heart, Aidan never eases off. He’s a persistent swallower and it’s one of the many, many things that make Dean so head over heels in love with him.

Dean exhales a huff of appreciative laughter when Aidan sits up, mouth slick and pink. “God,” Dean groans. “You’re ridiculous,” he protests, but steals a long kiss because he can. “Coffee’s probably finished by now. You want a cup made up?”

“Sure, bring in the paper, will you?”

Dean grasps hold of one of Aidan’s uni shirts and tugs it on, running his hand over his errant curls in an effort to tame them. There’s three copies of the paper on the doorstep and he gathers them all in his arms, setting them down on the kitchen table, prying apart the sections as he pours cups of coffee. He sets aside the crossword, Aidan’s column, and world news for himself. Aidan gets the jumble, the weather, horoscope, and sport. 

The sound of water running from the bathroom means Aidan’s opted for a quick shower and Dean hopes he doesn’t use all the hot water again.

He’s just past his sip of hot coffee when he gets to Aidan’s column and is so fucking beyond grateful he’s swallowed before starting to read it.

> _To all my readers,_
> 
> _I apologise for the uniqueness of today’s column, but I’m not writing about the best spots to get your catering from or even who takes the best wedding photos (though I know the best photographer in the business and he’s semi-retired). That advice will come back next week, but with permission from my editor, this week I have only one very important question to ask._
> 
> _Dean._
> 
> _Will you marry me?_
> 
> _And don’t worry. If you say yes, I promise we’ll book a photographer that you approve of. You’ve been a wedding charm for so many other couples, but I don’t think they understood how lucky they were to know you. And if they did know, then they’re all blind and stupid to pass up someone as brilliant and beautiful and perfect as you. I don’t know how you stayed single as long as you did, but I managed to walk into your life at exactly the right time. I’m so grateful that I did. Say you’ll spend the rest of your life with me? Say you’ll be my good life charm?_

The hundred messages suddenly make complete and total sense.

Dean has no idea how long he’s been standing there at the kitchen counter in nothing but his boxers and Aidan’s dark tee, but it’s long enough that Aidan’s through with his shower and changed for the day. He approaches tentatively, prying the newspaper from Dean’s hands and sliding down to one knee so gracefully that it’s like he’s had this planned the whole time.

“You…”

“Yeah, I sort of begged for that column space and my editor liked the idea. He says if you say yes, I’m obligated to write that up next week,” Aidan confesses, drawing a plain platinum band from his pocket – studded with a single sapphire stone. “I asked your friends for advice and all they said was that I should pour my heart out. I did it for the city.”

“You did it very well,” Dean praises, still somewhat in shock. “Holy shit, Aid…”

“Will you? Marry me?”

Dean wastes no time hauling Aidan back to his feet, wrapping his arms around Aidan’s neck and kissing him as hard as possible, pouring everything into it – love, devotion, desperation, and beyond. “Yeah. _Yes_. Christ, I was fretting about how I was going to ask you and you beat me to it. Yes,” he insists. “Yes, I’m yours. Long as you want me, I’m yours.”

Aidan’s never more beautiful than he is when he’s grinning. Now, on his feet, he’s practically radiating effusive joy. He kisses Dean while slipping the ring on his finger, laughing brightly as he spins Dean around, kissing him again and again until Dean’s fairly sure they’re either going to spend the morning pressed up against the kitchen countertop making out or on the floor doing the same thing. 

“Shit,” Dean laughs. “My friends are going to kill me.”

“Ignore them a little more,” Aidan insists. “I’m awake enough for proper celebrating.”

“Are you?” Dean laughs brightly, allowing himself to be led back to the bedroom. “You’re dealing with the mountain of pissed-off friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Aidan assures breezily. “Come on, Prince _Charming_ ,” Aidan encourages with a wink. “I’ve got plans for you. Lifelong plans,” he promises.

“Good,” Dean says. “Because it’s damn well my turn. You realize that we’re going to have about twenty or so groomsmen who owe me favours, yeah?”

“Means the registry gifts are going to be incredible,” Aidan says brightly, wrapping his hands up in Dean’s clothes. “As far as it being your turn? I couldn’t agree more. Now, come on, get naked. Newly engaged sex is the best sex, or so I hear.”

“Can’t possibly let you live without proving that,” Dean says. “I love you,” he murmurs fondly, cupping Aidan’s cheek. “And even if Jared weren’t with Fern, even if every ex I ever had wanted me right this second, I’d still pick you over all of them. You’re it for me,” Dean swears, and for once, he’s grateful that things in his life make sense.

Aidan nuzzles against Dean’s neck. “I love you too,” he swears softly, tugging Dean past the wall of _them_. 

Gone are the photos of other people’s weddings and in their place remains the polaroids of their relationship from the first picture of Aidan to the many Dean has taken and those Aidan’s taken in return, mingled amongst multiple pictures of the both of them – self-taken and by others. Now, at the end of it, lies a space that will soon be filled with the only wedding portrait that’s ever really mattered to Dean.

His own.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I can't leave well-enough alone and I like Tumblr prompts (andrea-lyn over there, if anyone was that curious). This is a continuation/an epilogue/some snapshots of the 'verse.

_year zero_

It’s not where Dean thought he’d be saying wedding vows. Standing here and overlooking the rolling hills of countryside while the scent of flowers drifts by on spring winds outside of Matamata with his nearest and dearest – well and richest – of friends standing nearby and Aidan is off apparently having some kind of wardrobe malfunction.

“You don’t think that’s code for him doing a runner, do you?” Dean asks of Jared, who’s standing as his best man. “Because the flight cost a lot of money and getting a Guinness fountain continuously pouring is practically eating into my budget on a minute to minute basis.”

Jared grins at Dean, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’s after something specific and I think it’s a bit lost in the luggage. Besides, if he leaves you at the altar, you can always marry Emmett.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Dean says, tapping his foot against the ground and trying to ride out the nerves. “Fuck,” he exhales, shooting an apprehensive look to the justice of the peace. “Do you care if I swear?”

“No,” she responds, faintly amused. “I’m not a conduit to Jesus and I won’t tell on you.”

“Good,” Dean says. “Fuck, fuck, god fuck.” He breathes out shakily and straightens his already-straight formal jacket, cracking his neck and bouncing up and down to try and dispel some of the nerves trying to overtake his system.

He’s about twenty seconds from doing a runner himself when he sees a familiar head of hair on the horizon. Dean lets out a breath that he’s been keeping captive in his chest, practically doubling over with the relief that he’s not been stood up and thank god for that and god, Aidan looks incredible – freshly shaved and well-groomed – and Dean spies what Aidan took so long to find.

“My tie,” he manages to eke out when Aidan joins him at the front of the small congregation.

“I know it’s something old, something new, borrowed, blue,” Aidan rambles. “I thought maybe I’d throw in ‘something adored’,” he says with a boyishly charming grin. “Ready to get this started?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, practically bursting with anticipation. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

_year three_ \- leather

“Do you know how hard it is to engrave my initials now?”

Aidan pokes his head out from the closet where he’s changing from his regular work-clothes (and since he works from home, mainly consist of sweatpants and really ratty band t-shirts that Dean is trying to get thrown out) into something nicer before they head out for the anniversary dinner now that they’ve exchanged gifts. 

Well, and now that they’ve fucked three times – once in the shower, once in the hallway, and once in bed while Dean was tied to the post. 

“What’s that?”

Dean digs out the gift they’ve exchanged – leather bookmarks for Aidan’s books, a leather wallet for Dean with a gift certificate to have it engraved with gold leaf. “I mean, it’s basically DOT,” he complains, wandering closer when Aidan makes ‘c’mere’ motions with his fingers. Dean helps him fix up his tie, fingers lingering over the scrape of his stubble as he works. “Why’d we go alphabetical?”

“You said it was fairer the both of us were O’Gorman-Turners, but I told you it’d sound massively Irish either way,” Aidan reminds him. He beams with satisfaction when he takes a peek in the mirror, grabbing his sweatervest and yanking it on atop the short-sleeved button down and the dark-wash jeans he’s wearing. “Ready?”

Dean checks his watch, aware they’re running a bit late because of the incident when they got out of the shower only for Aidan to get distracted by the dimples of Dean’s ass. “Taxi should be here any moment. I’ll get my coat.”

“You do that, dottie!” Aidan calls to him over his shoulder.

“Little shit,” Dean mutters under his breath, but he’s grinning affectionately the whole time.

* * *

_year ten_ \- tin

“Is it straight?”

There’s no response.

Dean struggles from where he’s standing on the ladder, hanging up the painted tin frames in the foyer of their new home. “Aidan!” he says, fumbling with his stance on the uppermost step of the ladder, looking over his shoulder. Well, that’d do it. Aidan’s not looking at the pictures at all; his focus is securely on Dean’s arse. “Damn it, Aid, is this why you insisted I should take my shirt off in case it gets tangled.”

“You believed me.”

Dean’s in a white Hanes t-shirt and a pair of his painting jeans. “Is it straight or not?” he asks patiently, fingers beginning to tremble with the exertion of holding the pictures out without actually hanging them. “Fuck it, if they’re crooked, they’re crooked,” he mutters when he doesn’t get an actual response. He hops down the last few steps from the ladder, giving Aidan a curious look. “Well?”

“They look good,” Aidan promises, pointing to the one in the middle. “I was looking at that one,” he says, which is a picture of him and Dean out at a play. Dean’s wearing his glasses – the last time he did before the eye surgery – and Aidan’s pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “I miss the glasses,” he admits. “I mean, you’re sex on legs, trust me,” he growls. “I liked you putting on your glasses to read the paper, though.”

Dean gives Aidan a bemused look, draping his arms around Aidan’s waist. “Make you a deal,” he says. “How about I’ll buy some hipster glasses and wear them when I want to get you hot and bothered. I’ll put on a scarf, haul out my old film cameras...”

“Ooh, yeah, talk hipster to me...” Aidan teases. 

Dean pinches Aidan’s arse as he eases back. “Come on,” he summons. “Fern and Jared are expecting us at their place. They’re heading back to Auckland, so this is a catch-all anniversary, my 45th, Jared’s 42nd, and Arbor Day party.”

“Arbor Day?”

“I’m being funny,” Dean says with a bright smile.

“No,” Aidan deadpans, but a smile is betraying his facade. “You’re really not.”

“That’s just too bad for you, then, because you married me. You have to cope.”

* * *

_year twenty_ \- china

They stare, in tandem, in horror. 

“We have to send them back,” Dean says.

“No, that’s too nice,” Aidan says, agape in horror at what the package Adam sent contains. “We have to burn them. Dean, we need to find the gates of hell. No mortal fire can take these things, only hellfire.”

“They’re not...” Dean starts to protest. “Aidan, I mean, they’re not...”

“I know you want to say ‘not bad’, but they are our faces, in anime cartoon style, on china plates. And the note implies it’s entertainment dinnerware,” he enunciates the latter two words with aplomb. “I’m calling it now. Either Adam is seriously starting to lose his mind or he’s still incredibly mad at us for the dildo-made-of-clay for their ninth anniversary.”

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Dean says, picking up one of the plates delicately, like it might eat his fingers off. “This is going to give me nightmares.”

Aidan grips Dean by the front of his shirt, tugging him away from the shipment of horrifying china. “I’m going to have to do something about that, aren’t I?” Aidan laments, mock-concern bleeding into his words. “Maybe a nightlight? No. You’re far too grown for that. I suppose I’ll just have to protect you with my big, strong body.”

Dean lets out a theatrical moan. “Oh god, the china is going to get me in my sleep.”

Aidan’s protests of ‘idiot’ are lost in his laughter, but Dean’s the one pushing him upstairs towards the bedroom, all thoughts of inappropriate china forgotten.

* * *

_year twenty-five_ \- silver

“Dean, you didn’t have to.”

“Aidan, I love you, but that’s the sixth time you’ve said that _today_ ,” Dean says patiently from where he’s working on mixing paints together. He’s technically retired, but he can’t exactly spend his days doing nothing. He’d tried that and he’d gone out of his mind – the same as Aidan. So their early retirement has become a resurgence into their old careers with a twist – economic and political writing for Aidan, painting and family photography for Dean. “What’s the matter?” he asks, adding a little more red.

“It must have cost tons and all I got you was new frames for your work.”

Right, the anniversary rings. _Again_. 

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you the one who dug out of his royalty funds from the book you wrote to send us on a three month long trip? I’m pretty sure the rings are cheaper than that, especially given the honeymoon suites you booked us.” Apparently, even though it had been their fifteenth anniversary, to Aidan, a honeymoon could be anytime.

Aidan wanders closer, sitting down beside Dean on the paint-stained sheets thrown over the hardwood to protect it. He’s still fiddling with the ring on his finger – the silver one with the topaz gem in the middle. “It’s too much,” he says quietly. 

“It’s a ring. It’s a symbol,” Dean says. “And if you really think it’s too much, we can go and exchange them, but I want you to come around to it. I bought the rings for us because I want to spend my money on this, on us. There’s nothing worth more, to me.”

Aidan reaches over and tangles his fingers with Dean’s, bringing Dean’s palm up. He brushes kisses against his knuckles, nudging the tip of his nose against Dean’s wedding ring and the anniversary ring. 

“I’m getting the ones for the fiftieth,” Aidan says stubbornly.

Rather than protest his chances of _living_ at that time, Dean manages a fond laugh and nods. “Done,” he guarantees. “Now, will you get out of here? I won’t have next year’s gift ready for you if you don’t stop bugging me every time I sit down to paint!”

“You can’t do a nude of me without a proper model,” Aidan jokes with a smirk, yanking his collar down as though a peek at his shoulder is enough to send Dean into horny capitulations. “Dinner tonight at seven, our diner. Don’t forget,” he warns. “I know how you get when you get all Michelangelo.”

“I won’t forget,” Dean promises. “Go away,” he says, throwing a balled-up rag in Aidan’s direction, taking smug delight when it hits the target. “And happy anniversary, Aid.”

* * *

And then the anniversaries stop mattering so much because Dean reasons that every day is gift enough and he falls into the simple pleasures of running his fingers through Aidan’s slowly-greying hair with his fingers and basking in the warmth of the home they’ve built for themselves. Aidan rouses slowly – much slower these days, even though it’s Dean’s knees that are creaking and going. 

“Paper?” he mumbles roughly.

“Brought it in,” Dean replies, already sitting up in bed in his robe and with his cup of coffee. “Tea’s on the table beside you, babe.”

Aidan hums with pleasure, sneaking his fingers up Dean’s thigh rather than going for the tea.

“Aidan?”

“Yes, Dean?” Aidan mumbles into a kiss to Dean’s neck.

“What’re you doing?”

“If I’m not being obvious enough, we’re going to have to take you to the head-doctor again,” Aidan says worriedly, but his smirk is devilish as he nips at Dean’s hipbone, loosening the belt on the robe. “The coffee can get cold,” he interrupts when Dean opens his mouth to protest. “And you can read my brilliant commentary on current London economics later,” he coaxes, wiggling his way down the bed. “It’s an anniversary.”

“No, it’s not,” Dean protests with a laugh, but he’s relented. The paper is strewn on the rug beside the bed, he links his fingers together – arms above his head – and he settles in.

“Is too,” Aidan protests.

Dean rolls his eyes and helps Aidan out by flicking the robe open. He only wears boxers to bed anymore, seeing as Aidan kicks off more heat than the best furnace in the world. “Okay, I’ll bite...” Aidan bites again, as if prompted. “Fuck!” he yowls. “Arse,” he growls. “What anniversary is this?”

“Thirty years since you wanted to maul me in the backseat of your car,” Aidan says with genuine adoration. “Thirty years since the diner and thirty years and one day since the first time I kissed you.”

Dean stares down at Aidan with a stupefied look on his face. “You romantic bastard,” he whispers.

“And I’m all yours,” Aidan promises. “Come on, get naked. I want to blow you.”

“Thirty years in and still, the romance lives,” Dean deadpans, but he’s the one eager to get naked and give in to exactly what Aidan wants – after all, he always is.

* * *

_year zero_

The crickets are the only thing audible apart from the sound of their breathing. The window is open to the night sky and Dean is tracing patterns over Aidan’s chest, tangling with the hair as he lies there in amazement at the path his life’s managed to take to get him here to his wedding night to a man who happened to walk into his life by chance.

“Aidan?” Dean whispers. “You asleep?”

“Nah,” Aidan says back, grinning mischievously at Dean. “After round three, I thought I’d pass out, but I’m still buzzing with energy from the reception. I still can’t believe this is real,” he admits, tangling his fingers with Dean’s and rubbing his thumb over the ring. “We’re married. You finally got lucky yourself.”

“I waited for the right one,” Dean says, sure of that now.

Aidan snorts.

“What!”

“God, it’s like you couldn’t be more of a sap.”

“Excuse me, Turner, but you fell in love with all this sappiness!”

“I did, I never said I didn’t make fun of it, all the same.”

“Hey, ow – not in the...arse!”

Aidan puckers his lips and mock-pouts. “Is that an invitation, Mr. O’Gorman?”

“O’Gorman-Turner,” Dean protests, but he’s already working his way back up to straddle Aidan’s naked body. “Thank you very much. I’m a married man now, happily so. I’ll have you know I intend to let everyone know that fact.” He’s already planning the massive mail campaign of ridiculously couple-style photos, but after the number of weddings he’s attended and all the happiness of others that he’s endured, he more than deserves it.

Aidan grins and rolls them over. “Tell me about your husband.”

“I hope you’ve got all night,” Dean says. “Because it’s one hell of a story...”


End file.
